Who Needs Shelter?
by EruditeWitch
Summary: A Post DH novella that centers around Percy, George, and Ron. Everyone has to cope with a changing environment, but what if your ideals on Love are changing too? Who needs shelter when the morning's coming? Lyrics provided by Jason Mraz, as always.
1. Prologue

**Proglogue **

Harry Potter woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of crickets coming through the window of Ron's attic bedroom. The cool summer breeze was blowing in, making the normally musty room smell sweet and cool. Harry was so full of energy; it seemed to buzz through him. No matter how hard he tried, sleep simply wouldn't come. He hopped out of his camp bed and padded softly out of the room, remaining unheard over Ron's small whimpers.

It had been two weeks since Voldemort had fallen -- two weeks since Harry had faced death and managed to come out the other end. It had been two weeks, and the world was finally beginning to seem livable. The Burrow had become the center of life and function for most of Harry's loved ones. The physically injured were recovering there, while those who sustained injuries less visible seemed drawn there for rejuvenation. Besides Bill and Fleur, who found comfort in the honeymoon they never had, all of the surviving Weasleys, Harry and Hermione had taken up residence at the Burrow.

Harry walked slowly across the dark living room, careful not to tread too heavily on the creaking floor. He lit a few candles to better illuminate his path, and made his way to a small alcove tucked in the back of the room. The night's breeze was blowing a series of blankets strung from the ceiling, each a different color, but all covered in shimmering gold stars. Harry pulled back the blankets, and summoned a chair.

He wasn't worried about not sleeping, there didn't seem to be much point. Harry was just thrilled to smell the summer air, and Mrs. Weasley's cooking that always lingered at the Burrow. The flowery scent of Ginny kept him awake often, as he dreamed of all the things they could do now.

Harry finally felt at home in the world, like he belonged there without pretense. There were no wars to fight, no trials to overcome, and no goals to seek. He just had to remember the fallen, and live for the present. It was so liberating, but Harry didn't feel like climbing mountains or shouting from the rooftops. He just wanted to sit, maybe listen to a decent quidditch game, and watch the days whither away with Ginny.

"You can't sleep either, huh?" said Harry to the inhabitant of a small crib. The little boy cooed and giggled as if trying to answer the question posed to him, and grabbed at Harry's fingers as he ran them across the crib's railing. Harry contented himself by staring into the familiar warm eyes of the child who playfully squeezed his Godfather's fingers. Teddy Lupin had already begun metamorphosing, and was currently finding it highly entertaining to mimic Harry's hair. He was flashing from sandy blonde to wild and black, looking very pleased with himself. Harry laughed at this little show and could have sworn he saw an expression so like Tonks that Teddy could have been channeling her spirit.

Harry found himself grateful for the distraction that Teddy offered him. The last two weeks had been a way of dealing with the bittersweet end to a trying period of time. Coming downstairs to rock peacefully at the side of Teddy's crib was a good escape from the rest of the world, even if it was only a makeshift nursery on the edge of a crowded living room.

Teddy was going to be taken care of by Andromeda, his grandmother, when she was ready. But she needed a little more time to mourn her husband and daughter in her own way, and Mrs.Weasley gladly took him. Harry had vowed the moment the baby was brought to the Burrow that he would make sure Teddy never felt alone or unloved, that he never felt like a true orphan. Harry was his godfather after all.

"You know, I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop," Harry whispered as Teddy continued to wriggle in his bed. " I mean, I know it's not all sunshine and daisies. I don't think George has so much as spoken to anyone. Arthur and Molly can only stare blankly over the heads of their children, as if expecting Fred to walk through the front door at any moment. Ginny is doing okay, but I just can't bear that sad look in her eyes. I know there's something rough going on between Ron and Hermione, but they won't even talk to me!" Harry's voice became strained as he began to choke on his words, forcing him to realize that he was losing control. Teddy had stilled and stared unphased up at Harry.

"I'm sorry, you probably don't even know what I'm saying," Harry smirked, smoothing out the black hair currently populating the top of Teddy's head. Harry took his wand and levitated a sparkling paper bird around the boy, causing him to erupt in happy squeals that brought a smile to Harry's face. The respite didn't last long, however, as Harry plopped back into the chair he had summoned and looked at the starry sky through the large picture window.

"Why did so many have to die? I can't help but wonder if I could have done something differently, something to save them all…To save your mom and dad," Harry finished, watching Teddy's hair change to pink. "But I'll take care of you. For starters, let's get me to shut up and get you back to sleep."

Harry tried to remember how Mrs. Weasley had shown him to calm Teddy, and after some pacing, bouncing, and a little embarrassing cooing the child fell into a quiet sleep. Harry placed him back into his crib and covered him.

"Fancy a fly?" a whispering voice asked from behind him.

"At this time of night?" asked Harry incredulously as he turned to face Ginny.

"Shh!" she admonished, gesturing toward Teddy. "Well, apparently neither of us can sleep. We might as well wear ourselves out for a bit." Ginny turned with a wink as she stepped through the door. And Harry couldn't help but follow his girlfriend outside.


	2. On Love, In Sadness

Chapter 1:

On love, In Sadness

_Love is a brittle madness,_

_I sing about it in all my sadness._

Christmas Day, 1996

Percy Weasley slipped nervously out of the Burrow's front door. Rufus Scrimgeour had just stormed furiously past him, bellowing at Percy to follow. He glanced once at his mother's stricken face, and then to the murderous looks of his siblings, before turning to leave. Now, as he followed behind Scrimgeour, stepping in his snowy footprints, the pain in his chest had become unbearable. On Christmas, Percy had again turned his back on love and comfort in favor of ambition and success. Percy feared his very soul couldn't' take very much more, but was convinced that he had no choice.

Percy Weasley used to take pride in the fact that he was unique. He bad a drive unsurpassed by any other students at Hogwarts. He was inquisitive and sharp, always finding logical solutions to complicated situations. He, of course, still had the Weasley flair for being stubborn and dramatic, but his mind was something to admire. Percy walked through life with a level of arrogance he found to be justified. Having a purpose felt good.

So when the opportunity arose for Percy to work at the Ministry of Magic, he accepted without hesitation. That year had been glorious for Percy. He had learned the various parts of the fine machine know as the Ministry of Magic. Percy went to official functions, wrote reports, and even attended top-secret meetings. Life was coming as close to perfection as was satisfactorily possible. There was nothing Percy Weasley loved more than perfection.

However, that year quickly turned dark. Barty Crouch Junior had killed Percy's beloved boss, Mr. Crouch, after he had infiltrated the tri-wizard tournament, and had even attempted to kill Harry Potter, a 14-year old participant. Rumors had quickly begun to claim that, on the night Cedric Diggory died, Lord Voldemort has returned. Of course, this had been something The Ministry firmly denied.

After that unfortunate incident, Percy had to make a choice between family and success. He chose success, actually believing his family would understand.

But his letters to Bill and Charlie went unanswered, arguments with his father escalated to the point of shouting, and he heard nothing from anyone else at the Burrow. So Percy drowned himself in work, and ignored what he believed to be foolish behavior on his family's part. Obviously loyalty to the Ministry was not their main priority. _But now he had to ask, __was it even his?_

Regardless, Percy continued on his journey toward the top, following Ministry lines of thought and serving what he considered to be The Greater Good. But through all his stuffed-shirt speeches and bristling presentations, things were getting darker. He could fee it, and his family was in the center of the gathering gloom. This fact became poignantly clear when a massive serpent in the middle of the night attacked his father while he stood guard in the Department of Mysteries.

Percy had rushed to the hospital to find his family crying silently over his ailing father. He wanted to run into the fold, to share their grief, but an awful thought had occurred to him. What if they blamed him? He hadn't been there to help. In fact, he hadn't even known about whatever it was they were doing. He knew that his family would never forgive disloyalty. Why should they? So, with an aching gesture, Percy turned his back on his family and walked out of St. Mungo's, determined not to allow himself to be hurt, and intending to delivery the first blow.

After that, things got progressively darker increasingly frightening. The Ministry was attacked and his family had been proven right. Lord Voldemort was back. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were vindicated in their claims, and the Minister of Magic had resigned in disgrace. Percy had desperately wanted to return to comfort his mother, and to reassure his entire family that he would be there for them, and that he would help. He wanted to raise his wand next to his brothers and carry the Weasley name like a torch against the Dark. But now, it was too late. Percy had made his choice and knew he would never be able to go back home again.

After Amelia Bones and Emmaline Vance were murdered, home became a distant memory in the back of Percy's mind, like an unattainable goal. Percy was convinced that he had no choice but to pay his dues, continue in his job, and not allow any suspicions to arise. He tried to convince himself that this terror would soon be over. It simply had to end.

As he walked through the snow bath to the apparation point at Ottery St. Catchpole, Percy had a crushing thought. What if the current situation never came to an end? What if he, and everyone else who opposed Lord Voldemort, were slated for death? Then, suddenly, a sharp voice pulled him from his increasingly unavoidable doubts.

"Right then, Weasley. I'll see you in the morning," said Scrimgeour as he turned to disapparate.

Confronted by such fears, Percy had decided not to go home, as walking into his clinically clean but overbearingly lonely house had become an unacceptable option on Christmas Day.

* * *

Two hours later, Percy could barely see Tom, the barman, standing in front of him at The Leaky Cauldron. Smoke was emanating from his mouth as he downed glass after glass of firewhiskey. His vision had become blurred, and his head was spinning incessantly. He felt gloriously numb, as his fears had been banished, replaced by the burn of firewhiskey in his chest.

"Are you sure you don't want a sober-up potion, son?" asked Tom, who appeared maniacally hunched over the bar, but with a look of concern filling his eyes.

"No! I want to be inebriated!" shouted Percy. "Kindly, mind your own business! And I'm no one's son!" he continued. Percy then rose indignantly, to storm from the bar; only to stumble drunkenly over is own stool.

As he began to fall, Percy felt a pair of long, slender arms wrap firmly around his waist. Percy was instantaneously struck by the scent of his mysterious savior. She smelled familiar -- fiery, yet soothing. Lemon and ginger swirled around him as she whispered his name, sparking something much farther down than his sinuses.

"Oh sweet Merlin! Percy?" the woman asked.

Percy turned his head slowly, so as not to dizzy himself, and looked into her concerned eyes. They were a captivating shade of green -- the exact shade of the pines that surrounded Hogwarts. The memory of those eyes led directly to a recollection of those lips, causing Percy to lick his own lips involuntarily.

"Penelope, how lovely to see you again!" said Percy while attempting to shake her hand, but not managing to keep his balance. She chuckled slightly.

"I think you are the absolute last person I'd expect to see in this place, or in this state, on Christmas Day! I would have thought you'd be at work, or at least with your family," she exclaimed, blushing slightly under his gaze. Her comment caused Percy to remember exactly why he was in that state, and became overwhelmed with anger once again.

"Well you don't know anything about me, so mind your own business!" exclaimed Percy as he flopped back down on the barstool.

Penelope looked affronted, but sat down next to him and ordered a butterbeer mixed with some muggle rum.

"I'm sorry about him miss Clearwater," whispered Tom. "I've been trying to give him the potion, but he refuses to take it. Seems bloody heartbroken if you ask me," he finished, like he was telling a tall tale.

Penelope considered him for a moment, her refined and elegant fingers moving over her expertly colored lips in a way that made Percy shudder.

"I'll take care of him, Tom," she said with purpose in her voice. It was a tone Percy knew well. It was a tone she always used when translating difficult runes or undertaking a particularly challenging project.

Percy took this chance to really look at Penelope. She was taller and appeared more mature than when they had last been together, but her inherent beauty still shone through in her deep eyes. However, the respect he was accustomed to seeing on her face had been replace by an upturned, almost fiendish smirk. She wore a pair of dark jeans that flared out a little over some sharp looking heels. Her elegantly coiffed blonde hair reached down to the collar of a rich green blouse that highlighted her remarkable eyes. A white belt crossed her waist, making her look most uncannily like an hourglass.

Memories hit Percy like a sixth shot of firewhiskey, overwhelming him with visions of his nervous hands pulling at her robes -- of her hands tangling in his bright red hair. It was as if he could once again feel her lips on his neck, her hand reaching beneath his shirt, caressing his bare skin. He closed his eyes, recalling visions of passion in dark corners of Hogwarts Castle – of stolen moments shared in the Prefects' private bath. No matter what had happened since their graduation, Percy Weasley had never forgotten the feeling of warmth and contentment Penelope Clearwater had given him. He couldn't imagine a worse situation in which to see her again.

"Penny," he moaned. "Please just leave me be."

"I can't, Perce. Surely you know that," she whispered as she took a firm hold on his forearm, and disapparated with her former boyfriend at her side.

Penelope's flat was spinning as Percy sat waiting on her sofa. She had gone to prepare a large goblet of sober-up potion. Her sofa was large and comfortable, covered with throw pillows that intricately mirrored her drapes. Soft, white and earth tones made the room look bathed in light, even at one in the morning. Black and white photographs of mountain faces and aspen stands hung unmoving along the walls. The place was in perfect order, but felt like a home uniquely matched with its owner. Percy sank deeper into the couch and allowed the luxurious scent of her flat overtake him.

Penny returned with the potion, which Percy drank willingly. She busied herself around her drawing room, glancing furtively back at him every few moments. He was taking his time with his drink, allowing his head to clear and things to come slowly into focus.

Percy had repeatedly told himself that his break with Penny had been a mutually acceptable agreement, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. The expression in her eyes as they had ended things appeared in his mind's eye almost as often as did his mother's heartbroken expression. Now, watching her flit nervously about the room, he wanted nothing less than to drown in her touch as he used to.

At the close of their seventh year, Penny had expressed a desire to attend university. Having lived in the muggle world until she was 11, higher education had always excited her academic drive. Percy had scoffed at her dreams, and had told her that leaving the magical world would lead nowhere. This, of course, led to many heated arguments.

So, while Penny pursued her dreams, Percy had chosen a much more respectable career by interning at the Ministry. The prospect of them going on their different paths had caused them to end their relationship.

But here she was, some four years later, looking even more captivating than she had when they had been together at Hogwarts. Percy could hardly contain the urge to run to her. But he knew he no longer had the right to touch her, not after failing to believe in her dreams, his family, or even in himself. In reality, he really couldn't fathom deserving the kind of love he had so lightly cast aside.

Having regained most of his composure, Percy's thoughts turned to saving face.

"So Penelope, how is your education coming along?" asked Percy, sitting up a little straighter.

Penelope smirked in such a way as to say _"I see through you, Percy Weasley"_, but luckily for him, she decided to play along. "Well I've taken a break from coursework for the winter and took a job."

"Oh Wonderful! What are you doing?" he exclaimed.

"I'm working for Hogwarts, actually. I'm a Muggle Liaison. I go to the houses of muggle-born witches and wizards to help them adjust, and prepare for the coming school year. I do it over the winter months so it can have a little more time to sink in. I quite enjoy it actually," she beamed, full of pride.

"Oh Merlin! That is bloody dangerous, Penny!" Percy shouted, suddenly rising to his feet.

"Excuse me?" she said breathlessly, taken back by his sudden outburst.

"There are Death Eaters everywhere! They've already started attacking muggle-born houses. If they see a witch representing Hogwarts going around there, they'll be likely to attack you!" he said, rising to his full height and breathing heavily. Images of a frightened Penelope Clearwater being tortured, or worse, by Death Eaters were fueling his fear and anger.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And for your information, Dumbledore has offered extra security. He assures me that I am well taken care of," she replied calmly.

"And that's another thing! How sure are you that you can even trust Dumbledore? The Minister…" Percy started.

"Sod the Minister! You've seen what's been happening. Dumbledore was right all along. If we can trust anyone, we can trust him!" she yelled, while moving closer to Percy, her heeled shoes allowing her to match his height.

"But he's still a loose cannon! He's not even at the school half of the time. The Minister would be able to quell this uprising if he only had more cooperation," Percy said, pointing his finger at her chest.

"Your Minister is not in control of this situation. Muggles are being killed, homes are being destroyed, and witches and wizards are dying. The only people that seem to be doing anything about it are The Order," said Penelope, her chest brushing Percy's as she leaned forward, ready for the attack.

Percy was finally pushed to the point he had long feared; as Penelope scratched open the wound he hid even from himself. Percy had already felt trapped between his loyalty to the Ministry and his need to reunite with his family. Now he found himself confronted by the woman who had meant so much to him before he had set out on the path he had followed blindly.

Percy struggled desperately to find the proper words, but before he could speak, Penelope had taken his hand. Her large green eyes were gazing deeply into his with sincere concern.

"Perce, I know your father is involved in The Order. The rumor mill is pretty accurate around Diagon Alley. I also know that there hasn't been much contact between you and your family for the last couple of years. It's Christmas Day, Perce, and you're sobering up in my flat instead of enjoying the holiday at The Burrow. So why don't you just tell me what's going on?" Penelope spoke softly, her anger completely dissipated, the expression on her face devoid of the hostility that had been present only moments before.

Percy could feel her hand over his, her thumb dancing lazily across the top of his hand. The feeling of her elegant fingers twisting around his caused chills to rush over his entire body. He found himself mesmerized by her deep, pensive gaze. She could still see right through him, just as she had during their time together at Hogwarts. Lemon and ginger danced in the air. She was so close he could hear her breathing as it deepened. The beating of his hear echoed in his ears, and he was sure she could hear it too.

The weight of the moment bore down upon him, and his pride instantaneously crumbled about him. Before he realized what was happening, a painful confession began slipping from his lips. "I'm alone, Penny. I live alone. I eat alone. For the most part, I even work alone. I abandoned my family because of my pride, and now I can never go back."

Penelope sighed deeply, as a hint of tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "Percy, I know you haven't lost the fundamental goodness that I saw in you while we were in school. It's still there, somewhere underneath everything you thought you were supposed to become. You just have a way of getting too caught up in yourself and in the things you thought a wizard ought to do if he wanted to succeed. You have always had difficulty considering others, but you've always meant well. I know that, and I'm sure your family does too," she stated resolutely.

"I don't think it's that simple," he started, stepping forward and pressing his body into hers.

"Nothing is. The question becomes: Do you have enough courage to be humbled?" she whispered, moving her face inches from his.

An overwhelming need for tenderness and affection swept over Percy. He placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her tentatively. When she did not pull away, Percy deepened the kiss, opening her lips with his tongue. Penelope moaned softly as he began breathing her in deeply, filling his soul with her essence. At last, she closed what little distance that remained between them, pressing herself against his warm body and wrapping her arms around his neck. Percy pulled the small of her back forward towards his center.

He had almost forgotten the effect Penelope Clearwater had on him…almost. Not only could she read him like a book, but she also lit something inside of him. As a Ministry bureaucrat, Percy usually found enjoyment in the predictability of his environment – an existence filled with the mundane the dull. In truth, he had felt much the same thing as a Hogwarts Prefect – until the day he started seeing Penelope. For with Penny, he had entered another world.

As their lips met after four years' absence, Percy returned to this world – a world comprised solely of them. Percy abandoned himself to drown in the taste of her wet tongue moving over his. He surrendered to the fell of her long body draped against his. He felt primal, wanting nothing more than to ravager her, desiring to lose himself completely in her. But suddenly a draft of cool air on his lips broke him from his reverie. His normal self came flooding back and shame hit him as Penelope backed away.

"Oh bloody hell, Penny! I fear I've forgotten myself," said Percy, adjusting his glasses and trying to repair his disheveled appearance.

"I'm sorry, Percy, it's just that…" she started, but Percy couldn't help himself.

"You probably have a boyfriend. It would be blind of me to think you hadn't moved on just because I haven't," Percy stammered, making to gather his things.

"Percival Igantius Weasley!" shouted Penny.

Percy turned around to see a glorious sight. Her hair was beginning to come undone and was flying freely about her head. Her blouse was askew, and her lips were red and swollen. "I am not with anyone, nor have I been since you. Perce, I know you, I care about you. You're the only person with whom I can discuss the varying laws behind the theory of reversed charms, for Merlin's sake! I'll never be able to find that with some other bloke," Penny finished, taking the cloak out of Percy's hands and setting it on the floor.

"I'm broken. I'm heartless. I'm nothing but a Ministry clod. It's just…It's been so long Penny. How do you know I'm still that person?" Percy asked, trying to avoid her eyes.

"I don't know, but I never will if you leave tonight," she breathed and kissed him carefully, her hand running along the lines of his jaw before stepping back and meeting his eyes.

* * *

Penelope stood frozen to her spot, in shock that she had actually asked Percy to stay. But if Percy ever needed anything, he needed someone tonight. Someone to put him back together and help him to see straight. She waited for a few excruciating seconds as he mulled over her invitation. Penelope knew that look well; he seemed to be torn yet again.

But as quickly as his indecision had come, it left Percy with equal alacrity. His long arms seemed to fly at Penelope of their own volition, his eyes dark brown and full of steely determination. He scooped her up, his arms wrapping around her, pressing her shoulders against the wall. She took his cue and wrapped her long legs around his thin waist. She sprinkled kisses along his jaw-line, relishing his hard features juxtaposed against his soft skin. He moaned slightly, pressing himself forcefully into her so she slammed in the wall. Instead of being affronted, a chill ran down Penny's spine. She knew this Percy. He lived his life in a cage he had structured for himself, and this had always been the only way he could burst free.

Percy's free hand was slipping under her shirt as Penelope reveled in the familiar feeling of those long, warm hands moving over her body. She gasped audibly and pressed herself more firmly against him, demanding more. He responded by nipping lightly on her bare shoulder, and she knew he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into her like he'd done so many times before.

"Penny, I want you so bad. I need this. I need to feel again," Percy groaned in her ear.

"Bedroom," she whispered, and before she could say another word, he was moving, her still in his arms, to the only door in her small hallway. Penny took the moment to remember how shocked she had been the first time he had lifted her. She knew she could make a safe wager that she was the only one in the world who knew how strong he was.

Percy paused upon entering her bedroom and set her gingerly back on her feet. He closed his eyes again and breathed in deeply. She took the time to kick off her shoes and found herself staring more at his neck than his eyes.

Penny brought her hands up to Percy's face, allowing her thumbs to move over the familiar pattern of freckles and the not so familiar patch of stubble. He turned his face into her palm and moaned lightly. His eyes pierced into hers with anguish as if trying to explain himself to her. Penny yearned to feel him again, to cut those familiar paths to his heart. Explanations could come later.

Penny reached out and kissed him hard, trying to wake up that wanton spirit inside of him. She desperately wanted to see him free. She felt relief when he kissed her back with equal fervor. He grunted roughly as both his hands grabbed her bum and pressed her into him. She could feel him hard through their clothing and it caused moisture and warmth to pool inside of her. She slid his robes over his shoulders and was mildly pleased to find that perfectly starched oxford tucked neatly into flat front trousers. Percy had always liked to wear muggle clothing. She pulled his shirt out of his pants between deep breathing and hurried kisses.

Percy pulled her shirt quickly over her head, making her intricately styled hair fall over her shoulders. He relished his work as he planted both hands firmly in her hair and pulled her head back to gain a deeper kiss. At this angle, Penny could slowly remove his shirt, making sure to run her hand over each new area of exposed skin.

Percy began kissing down Penny's neck. His soft lips were in sharp contrast to the rough, scattered feel of his kisses. He reached the curve of her breasts and paused to look her in the eye for one quick moment before removing the last barrier between them. Here, Percy slowed down and took his time moving his hand over each breast, running his fingers slowly over her taut nipples. As he took one into his mouth, she rewarded him with a ragged gasp.

For the third time that night he lifted her, throwing her on the bed as a genuine smile played across his face. Penny responded with a shrill bit of laughter, as he lay across her, chest to chest. At last, she sighed at the feeling of his flesh pressed against hers.

Percy slowly moved down her body, trailing kisses from her shoulders, to her breasts, and finally settling his lips against her navel as he unbuttoned her jeans. He stood briefly with the intention of removing her knickers and jeans, but as soon as that job was done, she rose off the bed to meet him. She smoothly moved his trousers over his hips, along with his absurd white briefs.

Penelope was struck at how different this part of Percy had become. While she still saw the same person reflected in his eyes, the rest of him had gone through a welcome change. His shoulders had become broader, and less dusted with impish freckles. His chest now had definition. She could still make out his ribcage, but that ended abruptly at what had become a remarkably chiseled abdomen. A trail of red hair led to a pleasing change. Percy's cock seemed longer and more full, and looked like a glorious accompaniment to his newly masculine features.

Penelope moved to face him, sitting on the bed, wanting nothing more than to put him into her mouth, to let him know how wonderful he looked. However, he bent down in that moment and latched his mouth on her neck, causing a sting of pain that lit up parts of her even more.

He moved his fingers inside of her and she saw sparks. She moaned his name and his face collapsed onto her shoulder.

"I need you now, Penny," he cried. She responded in kind, kissing him slowly, sucking on his bottom lip.

He moved on top of her, a look of the utmost tenderness across his face, like this was the only place in the world he wanted to be. He brushed a lock of hair from her face and said "It was always you. No one compares to you, Penny. You have always owned what's left of my heart."

With what looked vaguely like tears in his eyes, Percy entered her for the first time since they were at Hogwarts. Penny felt contentment at being filled by a man she understood, a man she cared for deeply. She knew he felt the same way. In his eyes as he moved inside of her, she could see that he was not completely lost. The real Percy, the man she once loved, was staring at her from those dark eyes.

Percy quickened his pace and was pushing hard into Penny as his shaft stroked firmly against her clit. As she came, she whimpered his name, causing him to lose control. He buried his face in her hair, gripping the sheets and letting out a primal moan, spilling himself into her.

When they had regained their bearings, Percy moved off her, causing them both to tremble noticeably as his softening penis slid from within her. He went to get up, most likely to get his clothes.

"You don't need all of that tonight," Penny whispered. "Just stay here."

Percy nodded slightly and crawled back into bed, wrapping an arm protectively around her and falling into a contented sleep. Now that Penny had rediscovered that part of his being, she knew it was only a matter of time until the real Percy Weasley would return.


	3. Sleep All Day

**Chapter 2: Sleep All Day**

_His after moan though cries oh no_

_His after moan though cries oh no  
He's building up a shine but he take it slow  
And he knows it time to make a change here and time to get away  
And he knows it's time for all the wrong reasons and time to end the pain  
But he sleep all, sleep all day, sleep all, we sleep all day over again  
Why don't we?_

George Weasley sat staring at the bathroom mirror, his reflection staring back at him, looking like an odd portrait capturing a happier time. He ran his hand over his unshaven face, and up around the area of stretched skin that thinly covered the space previously occupied by his missing ear. He smoothed his hand over his long hair, placing it as a curtain over his unsightly injury. He looked absurd, an echo of the dead, and he couldn't stand it. He felt as if he were living in a shrine, a moving memorial to his twin who had fallen in battle.

"Accio _Weasley's Patented Glamour Charm_," said George dully, as a small box moved through the open bathroom door.

The charm was something Fred and George had originally made for the "Witch Only" line of products, which was subsequently expanded to serve the needs of wizards as well. The charm came inside a transparent ball, the size of a snitch that was to be broken over the head. The instructions, written by Fred, were on the outside of the shocking pink box. Sparkling letters read:

"_Tap this orb upon your head,_

_Weasley Men are Lovely should be said,_

_Once it works it should be shown,_

_You'll have an appearance _

_That's not your own."_

_Note: WWW is not responsible for making ugly people beautiful. Even we aren't ... that powerful._

With one last sad look in the mirror, he tapped the tiny, dark orb on his head. In a flash of stars, the things that made George himself disappeared. His hair suddenly fell in shiny black locks slightly past his ear. His eyes had turned an eerie shade of gray, instead of the deep blue that normally accompanied his toothy grin. The freckles slowly left his skin as a dark, smooth façade replaced it. He still had the same smile. He was still the same size and shape, but he was no longer George Weasley. He no longer had to look in the mirror and see Fred looking back at him.

George sneaked back in his old bedroom, careful to avoid being seen. He could no longer stomach facing his family. It was bad enough to have Fred's features looking at him in Ginny's mischievous smile, in Ron and Dad's amused blue eyes, and in Charlie's broad shoulders, but the pain in his mother's face made it all unbearably real. There was no way he could face that.

His bedroom was full of stacks of papers, sealed boxes, and products to be tested. One stack of papers contained correspondence from Verity. She had kept the shop going in their absence, and kept sending frequent reports, even though George had never asked for or responded to them. He couldn't bear the small pleas at the end of each note, begging for him to come back. For the present, such thoughts were impossible to fathom. He simply needed time.

The other stacks of papers were owl deliveries for their mail order service. They had flodded in once word of You-Know-Who's defeat had spread throughout the Wizarding World. Celebration was in order, and it seemed as if everyone wanted a Weasley product. George knew he should enjoy this surge of success, but everything he thought of doing made him acutely more aware that Fred would never be there to celebrate the incredible jump in sales.

After hours of trying to sleep away the day, George found that he needed to get out of his stifling room. Boxes marked with 'W' were making noises or vibrating every now and then, providing a painful reminder of the way his life had been before the death of his twin.

He slowly opened his door to check for passersby. When he saw that the coast was clear, he twisted on his wooden floor and Disapparated to a cobbled street in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. The rainy day matched his mood, and served to complete his sense of grief. He hadn't bothered to wear a jumper, so the downpour that soaked through his black hair also caused his dirty, worn clothes to cling uncomfortably to his body. He felt completely enveloped in sorrow. He was tempted to walk all day if it might let him have a chance of avoiding reality.

He relished the sound of his feet flopping in puddle after puddle, remembering how he and Fred used to jump into them simultaneously, getting covered in mud and driving their mum completely bonkers. He remembered how Fred would grab his hand and wink, before they would silently count to three before each jump. Their combined splashes, assisted by little batches of childhood magic, would always cause a torrent of water to flow around them.

George couldn't help but smile slightly as the puddle he was pondering exploded in front of him, almost as if Fred had read his mind and had reached down to reek havoc.

"Oi! I know it's a great day for singing in the rain, but could you be a fucking git somewhere far away from my favorite jeans?" exclaimed a sharp female voice.

George was about to shout back, but found himself staring face to face with Samantha, the muggle girl from the paper shop in the village. Her shoulder length blonde hair hung in wet strands over a red leather coat. She had rolled her jeans away from the ground, revealing trainers that looked like a convoluted chessboard. She stood impatiently, with her hands on her hips and a small spark emanating from her bright green eyes. She was staring at George through heavy black-framed glasses.

"Terribly sorry, Samantha," George murmured, suddenly stricken with grief all over again. Fred had constantly joked with George about his crush on Samantha, asking him if he pulls her, to do it on the thing that duplicates their order forms so Fred could have a look. George knew that Fred wanted to get all the nasty details when George finally snagged the bird at the paper shop. Now, George couldn't even indulge that fantasy, thanks to the memories it caused. In the past two weeks, he had forgotten she existed, forgotten the world existed. His existence, his world, had shrunk to being only about himself – George Weasley, lost in his own head.

"I'm not quite sure how you know my name, but I'm afraid I have no idea…" she started, pulling George out of his thoughts.

George looked up at her and tried to smile. He tried to remember the frequent trips for tea they had made. On such occasions, George would be "just passing by" when he would stop and invite her to take tea with him. In truth, whenever he started to think about Samantha, George would Apparate into her proximity, just in time for tea! Eventually these occasions had led to the two of them being tucked in a quiet corner of the Ottery St. Catchpole Café, laughing at the various countryside folk who would come in for a quick nip.

She had immediately entranced George. Prior to meeting Samantha, George had made a habit of joining Fred on quests to find witches who might be interested in a quick visit to their Diagon Alley flat, the sole point of which was nothing more than getting their rocks off. However, things were quite different with Samantha. George had met her on an emergency search for parchment the preceding year. He and Fred had gone to her stationery shop because they had been attracted to the bright colored displays in the window. From the moment Samantha had quirked an eyebrow at their odd appearance, George had found himself absolutely smitten.

She was about the same age as he, and had a strikingly similar sense of humor. He had been taken by her remarkable ability to insult annoying customers while constantly keeping a charming smile upon her face. She had confided in George that the average person off the street was always too stupid to realize what she was actually saying; at least they were as long as she maintained her radiant smile. George quickly realized that Samantha was very smart, and before long, he noticed how very involved she had become in Muggle politics. However, her future was tied inextricably to that little shop. It had belonged to her father, and when he died, Samantha had taken charge of operations. George thought she had a flair for business, especially given her talent for colorful displays and her taste in choosing unique greeting cards. The combination of these characteristics gave George every reason he needed to admire her.

Something in his voice made Samantha stop in her tracks. "George?" she whispered incredulously, before stepping closer to him. He could see from her face that she was worried, maybe even a little disappointed. He could only imagine how he looked to her, dark, dirty, wet, and completely lost.

They had only shared a few stolen kisses in the back of her shop, because something always kept George from going further. He had been with his fair share of women. He was rich and reasonably good-looking after all, so he had always attracted plenty of women. But she was different. Things felt different with her, as if even the tiniest of things became something more with her. He felt as if they had become friends who fancied a snog every now and then. But now he realized that he would miss her dearly if they stopped seeing one another. Unfortunately, given the awkward situation at hand, Samantha was gazing at him with a semblance of fear in her eyes, while her lips trembled slightly. He was struck with competing desires -- to run away in self-preservation, or to risk everything and snog her senseless.

"George…what's…what's happened to you? You look so strange. And you're soaking wet! You have to be freezing! Why don't we go to my flat and have some tea?" When George failed to answer, she continued, "Whatever else may be going on, you need to warm up." With that, Samantha threaded her arm through his, and led him through the street in the direction of her shop.

He moved silently as she pressed snugly against his body, despite the fact that a little voice inside his head kept screaming that it would be better for him to disappear and hide. Despite the internal warning, the feeling of her ample figure pressed against his lanky frame made him ache for more. So George Weasley allowed himself to be led like a blind man until they made it into her shop and up the back steps to the tiny apartment.

Her flat was warm and inviting, much like she was. A worn plush sofa and two matching chairs took up the middle of the great room. Scattered across her walls were posters of her favorite bands, campaign posters, photographs she had taken on her many travels, and even a few posters advertising muggle moving pictures. A scattering of brightly colored cloth had been twisted hurriedly into the drapes that hung from the ceiling like ribbons, adorning the large front windows. Huge paper lanterns had been hung from her ceiling in the shape of globes and stars, casting a warm glow throughout the room.

After excusing herself for a few minutes, Samantha returned from her kitchen, still wrapped in her coat, dripping from the rain, and carrying two cups of steaming tea, which she set carefully on a table. She then walked to her coat rack, quickly removed her shoes and coat, revealing a black and white striped top, accented with red stars and a black hood. She then shook out her hair energetically, spraying water across the room.

"You can have a seat, George. I doubt the couch is going to bite you," she said, plopping generous amounts of sugar in George's tea, while adding honey to her own. George sat on the couch numbly, not really understanding the situation. He had set out in an effort to lose himself, but seemed to have been found, instead.

"Here, this just got finished in the dryer. It's still warm," said Samantha, as she wrapped a small orange towel around his neck. He could tell she wanted to ask a host of questions, yet seemed to be restraining herself. Instead, she settled next to him on the sofa and turned to face him. She brought her knees up to her chest, exposing her bare feet. She quickly tied back her still-wet hair. Her bare feet revealed toenails painted purple, which George focused on so as not to meet her eyes.

"So George, a change is always good, but why try to look like the Prince of Darkness? After all, you're much more a man of style and flair?" she said, trying to hide her concerns behind a joke and a wry smirk.

"I didn't want to look at myself anymore," cried George, as the words poured out of his mouth before he had a chance to hold him in.

"But I've always found you just lovely. And I know you fancied yourself to be the finest bloke in all of England!" Samantha continued, trying to goad him into displaying his familiar smile that, for some reason, refused to come forth.

"Well, things change. They change quickly and there's nothing you can do about it. All the swagger in the world can't always save you," George snapped bitterly.

"George…" Samantha whispered as she reached out for him. But George pulled away, leaving her with an empty hand and a hurt look upon her face.

George felt lost, balancing somewhere between need and grief. Her touch wasn't yet familiar to him, remaining something still sweet and new. However, in his current state, he couldn't really distinguish what he needed most. Part of him still wanted to flee, while the rest of him wanted desperately to get lost in her curves, the sweet smell of her skin, and the soft touch of her lips. Samantha was what some people would describe as a larger woman, but George reveled in the generous swell of her breasts and the soft feel of her body, which enveloped him whenever they embraced.

George looked up at her, and finally met those bright eyes. They were brimming with concern. It looked to him as if she were somehow feeling the depth of his pain without understanding exactly what was going on.

"I haven't seen you in weeks, George. Now you're back, looking completely different, and as if the whole world has crashed around you. I know we don't know each other all that well, but we're friends at least, aren't we? If something's going on, I can try to help," she said with a pleading edge to her voice.

"He's gone. He's dead. He's never coming back." George's voice was desperately strained as he choked back tears.

"Oh God! George, are you talking about Fred?" she whispered, backing into the corner of the couch, with shock and tears in her eyes.

"Yes," he cried, finally submitting to the tears, as sobs took over his body.

Samantha scooted closer to him on the couch, and wrapped her arms around him. He gripped her tightly; clinging for dear life to the affection of a friend -- someone who didn't know what had happened, didn't live in his house, didn't gaze on him with pity. She simply wanted to be there for him, while he found that he wanted to be nowhere other than with her.

When the shaking subsided, Samantha reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief decorated with a pattern of black and white skulls. "Blow," she commanded. George actually chuckled through his tears. While far from lighthearted, George Weasley was no longer lost.

He watched her beside him -- her eyes puffy with shared grief -- her hands offering a totally inappropriate handkerchief -- her lips forming a slight grin on her gentle face -- and George suddenly concluded that he had never seen a more beautiful sight. His body reacted forcefully, as he grasped the sides of her face and kissed her with every bit of love left in him. She responded with equal fervor, moving readily into his lap. They sat locked together in a shared embrace, his hands still caressing her face, his mouth tasting her for what could have been minutes or days.

At last, she pulled back, a somber look on her face. "So what happened to him?" she asked.

George panicked. How could he tell her? He had finally found comfort from the horrible ache that plagued him, but now he would have to tell her something she might never believe -- something that might cause her to fear, or even hate him. He didn't want to lose anything else, especially not something so surprisingly wonderful, so he figured he had no choice.

"I'm sorry. I have to go," he blurted, rising abruptly and racing for the door. He exited her flat and moved quickly down the steps. As she called desperately after him, George Disapparated back to his cage of a room at The Burrow.


	4. Mr Curiosity

Chapter 3:

Mr. Curiosity 

_Hey Mr. Curiosity, is it true what they've been saying about you?_

_Are you killing me?_

_You took care of the cat already,_

_And for those who think it's heavy, _

_Is it the truth, or is it only gossip?_

_I'm looking for love this time, _

_Sounding hopeful but it's making me cry inside._

_This love is a mystery,_

_Mr. Curious…_

Ron Weasley was trapped, panicking. His hands were shackled behind his back. He could vaguely hear Harry yelling at him to hold still, but he took no notice. All Ron could her, see, and feel was her, and he was going to lose her forever. All he wanted to do was to break through the stone walls that surrounded him – imprisoned him – separated him from her. He knew he had to get to her, no matter what.

A piercing scream cut through Ron's chest. She was in pain. They were torturing her. Ron suppressed the urge to vomit, and screamed her name. He wanted her to know he was there, that she wasn't alone. Ron wanted nothing more than to take the curse for her, to spare her from that pain, to keep her from dying. The feeling of her pending loss drove Ron deeper into despair.

Suddenly, he felt his wrists go free, but it did little to stem his feelings of panic. Hermione was still screaming.

"_What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth, or I swear, I shall run you through with this knife."_ The horrible disembodied voice of Bellatrix rang through Ron's head, as scream after scream echoed inside of Ron's prison cell. Frustrated because he could do nothing. Ron pounded his fists ferociously against the cold stone walls. All of his reason had been depleted and, after a futile attempt to apparate, all he could think to do was pound on the unmoving wall, trying to make it crumble under the force of his rage. Another cry came from above, causing Ron's soul to feel as if it had been ripped apart. He felt as if everything he treasured -- everything good inside of him -- was lying tortured and dying somewhere above him. He clawed at the door and cried her name, tears mixing with the blood that was flowing down his face and into his mouth.

Ron became vaguely aware of the entrance of a man into the room, even though his ears could hear nothing but Hermione's screams and the pounding of his tormented heart. Ron could see the door open. He raced up the steps, but never reached his objective, as the stairway grew progressively steeper and the steps more numerous. She was now screaming his name more loudly than ever, as if she were yelling directly into his ear, but the stairs kept multiplying. Dead silence suddenly descended upon him.

"Ron!" shouted a voice that could only belong to Harry.

Ron sat bolt upright. He was tangled in his bright orange blankets, covered in sweat. Harry was sitting on the bed; one hand on Ron's shoulder, looking careworn and slightly frightened.

"You were yelling pretty loud there, mate," said Harry, his hand not leaving Ron's shoulder. The fear, shame and terror of the dream hit Ron like a hard wind. He could feel his throat tighten and his eyes water. Harry moved to put his arm around Ron, a pitying look in his eyes, but Ron stood up abruptly.

"I'm fine, mate, just a bit of dust," mumbled Ron, rushing out of his bedroom door and to the bathroom.

Since the end of the war, Ron had been plagued with nightmares of losing Hermione. They had come so close to dying, so close to being ripped apart, that the fear still lingered in Ron's mind. Her screams never left him. His fear and pain rarely subsided. All he kept thinking was he almost didn't get to her, she almost didn't wake up. Every day, the word "almost" cut through Ron like a knife.

He ran the tap and splashed cool water over his face. His large hands gripped either side of the sink. He let his hair hang down and allowed his face to drip into the drain, breathing slowly to calm himself down. He didn't need to be busted punching another hole in the wall. Ron looked at himself in the mirror, thoroughly depressed by his cowardice.

From the day he met her, Hermione Granger had made a profound effect on Ronald Weasley – producing an impact that no one else could match. At first, he thought it was complete and utter annoyance. His eleven-year-old self thought she was unbearable. However, the prospect of her getting injured, or worse, by that troll had sent a chill down his spine and caused a feeling he couldn't quite identify to rise in his throat.

Of course he knew that feeling now. It consumed him. It was the ever present and constantly pending _"What if I never see her again?" -- "What if I never tell her how I feel?" -- "What if I lose her forever?"_

The last question hung heavily on Ron, as if Slytherin's locket had been permanently attached to his chest. Hermione had become something beyond precious to him in their sixth year. Before, she may have been nothing more than an object of infatuation that also happened to be his best friend. But after he had almost died, and had seen her face immediately upon waking, Ron found himself totally undone. He knew without doubt that he loved Hermione Granger, and determined he would make things right from then on.

And things had been right, even in the midst of the darkness that should have been their seventh year. Ron had found some light in her. Their stolen glances, furtive touches, and unspoken words had been enough to keep him going.

At last, Ron realized he couldn't stay in the bathroom any longer. Yet he didn't want to go back to his bedroom either, for he knew Harry would certainly be waiting up for him.

Ron carefully walked down to the second landing where he could see her -- see the familiar deep, even breaths of Hermione sleeping peacefully in his sister's room. He pushed the door open slightly, gaining comfort from watching her safely sleep away the night.

Ron's eyes were drawn to her slightly parted lips. He remembered the amazing kiss she had given him after they had gone into The Chamber, and his body felt electrified. As he looked at her, he could almost feel her body against his, his hand splayed across the small of her back. With a miserable sigh, he continued down to the kitchen.

That kiss had set Ron on fire, but it had been the last time he had touched her the way he wanted to. Sure, there were occasional hugs of comfort, but Ron had decided he needed to let her go, or he would lose her forever. Ron could hardly handle the hurt and confused looks that haunted Hermione's face, but he had not choice.

Ron had almost lost Hermione too many times over the past year. Every time a curse had been sent her way, every time he had heard her scream or cry, the bottom had fallen out of his world. Now that Ron had Hermione, a new fear had taken him over.

Ron had never been good with girls, and especially so with Hermione. He had often said the wrong thing or stumbled over his words. He knew he was not very good-looking -- nor vaguely sensitive. He realized he wasn't very clever. He even admitted that he wasn't really experienced. Lavender, he had decided, didn't count. The weight of these beliefs left him paralyzed.

After all the pain and fear they had been through, Ron couldn't bear the thought of losing her simply because he was a git. If that happened, he knew he would never be able to get her back. He had to keep her at a safe distance, so he didn't lose her forever. Hermione meant so much to Ron that he'd sacrifice loving her the way he wanted to, if that would guarantee she'd stick around – to remain a part of his life.

Ron reached The Burrow's kitchen to find Percy sitting at the table, a mound of papers scattered across the entire surface. His curly hair had come undone and was waving wildly around his head. He was pale, and his shaking hands were sorting through page after page in front of him. His hands were bleeding from paper cuts, but Percy seemed to take no notice.

"Wow, Percy! Maybe some things haven't changed. You still take your work home with you," exclaimed Ron. Percy made a jittering almost maniacal laugh, leaving Ron with no idea how to react to Percy's broken state. He was probably still reeling, as they all were, from Fred's death, so Ron approached with caution. "So, what are you workin' on there, Perce?" asked Ron as he gathered together some ingredients for tea to calm them down.

"I've got to keep looking. Just keep looking!" Percy yelled, shaking violently and sweating. Ron was fearful for his brother's sanity, and was about to get his parents when he heard approaching footsteps.

George walked through the front door, or at least Ron thought it was George. His hair was black, and his skin a very dark shade. George's eyes were a piercing gray as he lifted his dreary head. The mood in the room just got darker, and Ron felt he couldn't hold on much longer. George looked to Percy with a twitch of shock on his face. He looked at Ron questioningly, but Ron just shrugged his shoulders. They exchanged panicked looks when Percy growled and scattered his papers around the kitchen. He collapsed onto the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. George whispered to Ron to fetch some firewhiskey from the top cupboard.

Ron gladly did anything to help his ailing brother. He put two cubes of ice in three glasses, and added enough firewhisky to warm their chests. He sloshed the alcohol inside the dingy crystal, as George tried to comfort Percy, and calm him as best he could. Ron busied himself gathering up the scrapings Percy had strewn about the kitchen. Each paper contained a small map, scribbled in Percy's neat writing with notes on every free spot. Ron had no idea what he was looking for, and was worried that Percy didn't even know the answer himself.

George pulled Percy into a chair, and lifted a glass of firewhiskey up to him. Percy gladly grabbed it, hands still shaking, eyes red and puffy, and raised it in the air. Ron and George echoed his movements. With what seemed like a silent plea more than a toast, Percy downed his glass in one gulp. Ron did the same, feeling the burn, like sweet pain, rush down his throat. He relished the warm feeling that moved over him, if only for a moment.

Ron yawned heavily, the effects of the whiskey giving him just what he needed to sleep a little before morning. George was sitting next to Percy, silently communicating some sort of shared pain. Ron was content to leave his brothers to each other, but he made a point to talk to George about his new look and what was up with Percy in the morning. It was too much for him at the moment.

As he lie in bed listening to the choppy sounds of Harry's breathing, Ron couldn't help but slip into fantasy. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to do it, but unable to stop visions of Hermione from floating in and out of his mind. She was always dressed in white when he dreamed of her, and he would touch her carefully and with love. Ron could almost feel her skin as his mind's eye traveled over her slender arms, up to her neck. He would place enough kisses there to cover her entirely if he could.

Ron began to writhe in his bed, the fantasy being too much to control anymore. He had to touch himself. He wrapped his hands around his throbbing cock and stroked quickly and roughly until he could finally get the cheap release it offered. His large hands could not mimic what he could imagine to be Hermione's delicate, slender fingers. He pictured the look of intensity she got in her eyes when reading over a fascinating book, and pretended for a moment that look was for him. Ron let out a whimper of longing, and quickly stifled himself so as to not wake the soundly sleeping Harry across the room. He continued moving until he came, Hermione's name being whispered on his lips. He had to feel Hermione in the only way he could. His dreams would be torture, but at least he was the one being tortured this time.


	5. Absolutely Zero

Chapter 4:

Absolutely Zero

_Who am I to say this situation isn't great? _

_It's my job to make the most of it __  
__Of course I didn't know that it would happen to me. _

_Not that easy._

Samantha Burnette woke abruptly the next morning, her body stiff and her head pounding. A small collection of wadded up tissues sat precariously on her night table next to an old picture of her father when he was very young. She flung her feet over the side of her bed and sighed deeply. The events of yesterday were starting to flood back into her mind.

As vividly as if it were still happening, George's grief-stricken face invaded her mind. The feel of his wracking sobs shaking her body as she held him close still whispered against her body. Watching him rush away from her played like a movie on her conscious mind. She cried all night last night. Tears are not something Sam is accustomed to, but they fell freely, and for hours she cried out of shared sorrow for George. She cried for Fred and the thought he and George would never saunter into her shop again. And she cried because she needed George. She needed him to need her when he was in pain. This ache has awoken Sam to a new concept.

She was in love with George Weasley.

With a heavy heart, Samantha threw on some jeans and a Sex Pistols tee shirt and padded into her small kitchen. She grabbed a granola bar and her weekly new magazine and tried to start her morning. The words on the page seemed to melt together and she couldn't even swallow the sweet granola. Her morning was tarnished by thoughts of George. She gave up on her rituals and resigned herself to go down to the shop early. She wrapped her apron around her waist, smiling as she does often, at the hand-drawn logo on the front that read: "Tom's Papers and Gifts" and was surrounded by little golden stars. A day in her shop may be just what she needs to get her mind off of George.

She stepped out onto the second story landing of her flat above the shop and took in the sunrise over the small village. She closed her eyes and imagined one happy afternoon when George walked her up to her door and kissed her on every inch of her face, saying his lips had a poor memory and needed to be reminded of her before he left. Samantha opened her eyes at the realization that George was different now, and he may never come back.

She walked down to her shop and set about working. She changed her window display to a new set of brightly colored decorative paper and handmade cards. When she finished, she gasped lightly. Her hands must have worked of their own volition. Staring back at her from her front window was an abstract, square version of George in vivid colors.

The top of her window was filled with shades of orange dancing in through the stencils, greeting cards, stationary, and decorative paper. It struck her that these colors often danced in her head in the form of George's hair. Intricate cut paper flowers in shades of reptilian green moved in waves over the glass, looking exactly like George's jacket, which she could have sworn was snakeskin. Blue crystals hung down from the window frame, reflecting the light perfectly, just like George's eyes. Samantha wasn't' sure if she wanted to tear the window up in anger, or reenact her might of crying. She decided on leaving it up as she went to open up for business.

The day passed by quickly, and Samantha's hopes faded with each passing hour. Every strident ding of her entrance bell would cause her heart to skip a beat, only to fall when she saw the prospective patron wasn't George. As the sun was setting on Ottery St. Catchpole, the crystals in her window flashed in her eyes and she knew she had to look for George.

* * *

Samantha grabbed a rucksack and packed a jumper, some water, her wallet, and some wine. Hey, a good bottle always made her feel better, why not him? She threw the bag over her shoulder, having absolutely no idea where she was going. She had a small map of the county and a vague impression of where she should start. It couldn't have been far, because George always walked into town. She knew it was North of her, as that's the direction in which she would always first see the flames of his head coming over the hill. Samantha remembered how ridiculous she felt, like a little girl, when she would spot George coming and rush back into her shop to act nonchalant.

She gazed at the Northern area of the county, noticing to her relief that there were very few roads in that section. So it shouldn't take long to look. She climbed the hill that bordered the village and gazed over the northern roads. Two very cozy roads wove through the grassy hills, on along the stream to the west and one into the forest. The third road had not bee in the map and looked unsteady and dangerous. It was rocky and dusty as it wound up over and around many hills, almost as if the road had drawn itself and wasn't intricately planned like the others.

Samantha had decided George most likely did not live on that road, and started off along the stream. Suddenly, a flash of blue caught her eye and she turned toward the dusty road. When she turned around, it was gone. Taking a sip of her water, she turned her attention back to the stream. This time, a strong wind blew directly into her face and she was forced to turn her back to keep the dirt out of her eyes. The flash of blue lingered longer this time and she was reminded of the crystals sold in her shop. She felt compelled to explore further, and made her way down the dusty, winding path.

As it neared darkness, Samantha realized she had been walking for nearly an hour but to no avail. All she saw was a few very ruined houses. Her hope sparked as she saw a sign in front of a house, but it said "Diggory", not Weasley. Samantha would have turned around to go home, if she had any idea where home was. Despair pitted her stomach.

She wasn't' too afraid of being lost. This wasn't exactly the most dangerous area in Britain. However, she needed to know George was okay and needed him to know she cared. He told her he had a large family, but remembering the state she saw him in yesterday didn't comfort her much.

Turning around to try to go back the way she came, Samantha saw a very tall, black boy run past her. He seemed to come out of nowhere. He stopped abruptly and turned to her.

"Do you know where the Lovegoods live?" he looked slightly panicked. His dark eyes and forceful gaze struck Samantha, and she found his confidence remarkable considering he was wearing some sort of cloak.

"No, but do you know where George Weasley lives?" she asked, slightly taken back by his shaking hands.

"Bloody hell! The Weasleys do live near Luna! Follow me. I wouldn't recommend apparating there though. The wards might still be up," he said as he sped in the opposite direction.

"Excuse me?" she asked as she trotted after him.

"It's just up here to the right," he said, too focused on his mission to have noticed. "Ahh, it looks like someone is still up," said the boy, cracking a gorgeous white smile and looking up at the sky.

Samantha looked up to see two people flying through the air on what looked like antique brooms.

"What are they doing? How are they doing that? Someone get them down!" Samantha screamed, pulling on the stranger's arm. He had an odd look on his face, more like he was scared of her and not the flying people. Before Samantha had a chance to panic, she heard a loud crack and George appeared right before her eyes. As she saw those beautiful blues, her world went black.

* * *

Samantha's head was throbbing. She could not even open her eyes, everything in her body felt heavy. She could vaguely sense herself surrounded by something soft and comfortable, and assumed she was on her sofa at home recovering from some horrible dream. The vague smell of baking bread unnerved her, however. Someone's footsteps were approaching and Samantha then knew she wasn't alone.

"I can't believe those tow, flying in the middle of the night. When they turn up, I swear I'll…" she faded off as the footsteps drew away again.

Now Samantha knew she was in trouble. Either she was severely hallucinating or under the influence of some very good psychotropic drugs, or what she saw last night was real. George flashed in and out of her mind's eye. If she could have she probably would have yelled for him, hoping he was there. She opened her eyes and sharp daylight hit them, telling her she had to have been out for at least eight hours. Footsteps approached her and she promptly closed her eyes and pretended to still be out.

"Tsk Tsk. Poor thing, she must have had such a fright seeing George like that," the woman whispered. Samantha felt exquisite warmth hit her forehead as the woman placed a warm, wet cloth there.

"George says she's a friend of his. Owns a ship in the village. Poor bloke hasn't slept. I've got him keeping busy with breakfast. He's completely beside himself, like he needs anymore pain," a man's voice spoke. It was so overwhelmingly kind that she no longer felt unsafe.

"Oh Arthur! You're going to have to talk to him about modifying her memory. A muggle can't just know," said the woman. Samantha's heart rose in her throat.

"No!" Samantha yelped. She sat bolt upright only to get dizzy and falter on the sofa. The woman had leapt up to catch her head and place it back on the pillow softly. The cloth was back on her head instantly. The woman looked down at her with a softened, but worried expression. Her face was weathered but jovial, her eyes were deep brown and soulful, and her hair was read with a trace of gray around the forehead.

"You just lie back dear, you have had a rough night. Arthur, love, can you go tell George she's awake?" she spoke gently.

"Don't take it away. I want to remember. I want to see George," Samantha pleaded, tears falling down her cheeks. She was beyond reason, the past few days flashing before her in a blur. All she wanted to do was see George. The need overcame her, and nothing else mattered until she could look into his eyes and measure up the situation.

"Sam! Sam!" she could hear George calling out and running toward her. He had a look of fear, but also apprehension. It broke her heart. She knew he was thinking she would never talk to him again.

George placed his hand gently on the side of her face. Samantha leaned into it, seeking the comfort he offered, and placing her hand over his. He gasped, a disbelieving look on his face.

"Are you alright? Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?" George whispered frantically.

"I'm a bit queasy, and to be honest, a little scared. What's going on?" Samantha answered, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice to reassure him.

"Oh Merlin! I don't even know where to start, Sam," he said miserably.

"Well you can start with 'Oh Merlin!' I guess," Samantha said, smirking.

George laughed and his flashy smile made something occur to her. "I noticed your appearance is back to normal, I'm glad," she said softly, reaching up to touch his hair.

"Well, the charm seemed to wear off when you fainted," he said sheepishly.

"Charm?" she asked.

George sighed. "Yeah, this is going to take a while." And as she sat up to listen better, George moved next to her on the sofa.

* * *

An hour later, Samantha Burnette was floored as George pointed his wand at a cup of tea and it sailed safely into her outstretched hands. George had spent that hour explaining everything about his world and what he could do. Samantha believed him, having already seen it first hand. Now, he was staring at her again with doubt on his face, having just poured all of his secrets to her.

"So there you have it. I'm super special and very important. Oh, and I can also do magic," he said, laughing but with that worry still shining in his eyes as he looked at her from the other side of the sofa.

"And you're oh so humble, George Weasley," Samantha smirked. Compelled by a different kind of magic, she slid over to George and leaned her head on his shoulder. His long arms wrapped around her, and relief seems to radiate around both of them. Samantha steeled herself for what came next.

"How did Fred die, George?" she whispered, looking up at him.

George sat there for what felt like an eternity, clutching her tightly as if she was going to float away. Finally, he sighed deeply and spoke.

"There's something I haven't told you about the Wizarding World. There is evil too," he croaked, and she waited with baited breath. Samantha listened as George told about something horrifying called Voldemort. She couldn't' even imagine the pain when George slid his hair to the side and revealed his missing ear to her.

"Two weeks ago, Voldemort was vanquished, but it came at a cost," George said, his voice wavering.

Samantha reached up and wiped a tear from George's cheek, quieting him. "You are the bravest man I've ever met," she said earnestly.

"I'm not brave. I wasn't next to him. I couldn't help him!" George cried, lips quivering.

Samantha grabbed the sides of his face and he turned a sullen gaze to her. She kissed him softly. She put everything she had into that simple act. All of her love, understanding, and even fear were behind her lips, reaching into George.

A cluttering could be heard upstairs.

"Mind if we go back to your flat?" George asked, pulling away hastily and rubbing his eyes of tears as people appeared on the steps.

Samantha nodded and before she knew it, she felt she was being squeezed through a tight tube. She couldn't see, hear, or breathe. She collapsed on her living room floor, gasping for breath over George's frantic apologies.

"What the bloody fucking hell did you do to me," said Samantha in between coughs and dry heaves.

"Oh sweet Merlin, I'm sorry! I wanted to get out of there so badly that I forgot you weren't used to that. Oh please be okay," he groaned, rubbing her back.

"I can't believe that an hour ago you had to explain to me about your friggen wand, and now you forget I'm not like you!" she screeched, though there was a tinge of humor behind her dry, cracked, throat. Her coughs quickly turned into laughing there on her wooden floors, the sheer volume of the past evening finally gaining perspective.

George didn't question her laughter, but joined in with equal fervor, lying next to her on the floor. She was completely taken back by the bright look on his face, like pain wasn't always an inch away from him, like the George she had remember with Fred. George noticed she had quit laughing and turned on his side to look at her.

"Wow, George, you sure do know how to keep a girl's interest," Samantha said, a giggle still left in her voice. George puffed out his chest proudly. Samantha took her serendipitous moment to really study the lines of his face. He looked older, but the bright glow around him would always make him a permanent adolescent. His blue pools of eyes brimmed slightly and were still a little dark around the bottom, but she could see into him that he would be okay. His lips were warm and inviting, curving slightly in a perpetual smirk. She couldn't resist the spark she felt when she was around him, and nor did she want to anymore. She pinned him to the floor and kissed him intensely.

The kiss was full of more fire than she had ever felt before, almost like years of being with the wrong person had pushed them both into this perfect moment. He practically digested her lower lip, attempting to possess everything of hers he could reach. His hands moved frantically over her, scanning her body with complete liberty. When she threw a leg over him and he pressed up into her, she was his forever. He could have had her right then and there if he tried.

However, he seemed to be enjoying moving at a snail's pace, which was fine for Samantha. She enjoyed clingy to the desperate moments of want, savoring what would surely be the love of a lifetime. She had come so close to losing him, even when she wasn't aware, that George became a treasure beyond anything she could imagine.

When the slow kisses and caresses turned to frantic movements, and his hands grazed her breasts in deliberate and almost nervous motions, Samantha couldn't control herself any more. She rose up, still hip-to-hip with him, and preened slightly. While doing so, she pulled off her jumper, and her blouse in one fell swoop, letting her hair move around her head. George growled slightly and brought his head up to the valley of her breasts, pulling her down with him.

"Oh I could just eat you, Samantha Burnette!" he exclaimed, his face flush and lips swollen.

"Why don't you?" she questioned, getting up and sauntering to her bedroom. George leapt up and followed her quickly, only to vanish behind her. She was frightened for a second, until she got to her bedroom door and saw him lying casually on her large bed, looking at his nails.

"See? There's no escaping me, you're mine forever now!" He said, getting up and kissing her lightly behind her ear as he moved her bra straps from her shoulders.

Samantha felt a knot in her throat as she whispered, "You promise?"

George softened, the smirk leaving his face, his thumb grazed her cheek as his blue eyes met her green ones, and "You're too amazing to give up You mean more to me than I ever let on," he whispered. Before she could reply with equal intensity, he was kissing her again, he tongue dancing in and out of her mouth, giving her a preview of all that he was capable of.

The moved over to the bed quickly, shedding clothes as they went, until all Samantha was left with were black lace panties, and George boxers with what looked like rubber ducks on them. He lay her back gently on the bed, his hand behind her head. His hands then moved to her breasts and over her round stomach, like he was searching for something. He slowly removed her underwear and parted her knees. Apprehension hit Samantha like a ton of bricks.

"George, I…well…it's been quite some time since…I just don't want you to think…" she stammered, turning red everywhere as he gazed at her with open interest.

"I just want to get lost in you, love. I just want to stay here with you and let the world go away for a while," he whispered, his eyes brimming again. Samantha leaned up and brought him down over her, kissing him hard. She would give him whatever he needed.

He kissed slowly down her body, stopping at her center, and forcing her legs open once more. Being exposed to him felt horrifying, and that felt exhilarating, something she knew he felt when his long fingers entered her, and she moaned loudly. He continued with his pace until she was begging for more, and he was looking into her eyes with complete hunger. In a flash of red hair he had vanished again, only to appear in between her legs.

His lips slowly kissed up her thighs and onto her outer lips. Her body seemed to quiver at what was next. His amazing hands opened her further, and his mouth connected with her, sending waves over her of wanton need. He continued, lapping her until he inserted two fingers in her and curved them slightly, latching on to her clit.

A stream of obscenities left her mouth as she came, gripping George's shoulders tightly. He was whispering that she was beautiful and that he wanted her between her ragged breaths. "I need you," left his lips, and he moved so his face hovered above hers.

Samantha nodded and he entered her. An exquisite fulfillment came to her, like the beginning or end of some great journey was happening as they moved together. His moves were quick and calculated, gauging her responses as he moved inside of her. She felt his shoulders tightened and found his hands to be gripping her sheets. She began to rub her clit as she watch him lose complete and utter control, his face strained in the pending ecstasy. She came with him and he cried her name over and over again like he was casting a spell before collapsing on to her.

He lie there, sleeping on her stomach, his arms wrapped around her, and was out almost instantly. Samantha knew from his face that he hadn't slept in a while, and decided to let him go as long as he needed to.

The lack of warmth on her stomach woke her from the best sleep she had in weeks. George was hurrying to put his shoes and socks on, having already dressed.

"I really don't mean to fuck and run, but I need to help Percy," George said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Oh." Samantha said, disappointed he wouldn't be staying longer.

"I'll be back before it gets dark. I promise," he said, kissing her on the lips lightly. When he pulled back, he couldn't resist, and needed to kiss her again, harder and with the same intensity he had last night.

"Samantha?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah?" she answered, a little worried at his again serious look.

"If I don't come back…well…I love you, and I think I have since I first laid eyes on you," he whispered, kissing her nose, cheeks, and forehead.

"George, I love you too, more than anything I thought was possible. But what do you mean, 'If I don't come back'?" she said suddenly.

"I'll see you later, love. Meet me at my mum's house at sundown, now that you know where it's at," he said quickly, as he disappeared on the spot.


	6. Halfway Home

**Halfway Home**

_I used to walk along the opposite side of the road _

_and made others get out of my way_

_I used to think I could sit and wait for the times _

_but they won't come until I meet them halfway_

_I'm halfway home and I'm still out on my own_

_I'm halfway there and I don't care, I don't mind_

_Because it ain't my time to stay or say_

_I'll never lay down._

August 1, 1997

Percy sat at the small table in his flat in Hogesmeade, twirling a piece of golden paper in his long fingers. A steaming cup of tea sat precariously on top of the Saturday edition of The Daily Prophet. The windows were open, letting in a glorious summer sunrise along with a breeze that made Percy long for The Burrow. He picked up the square of golden parchment, staring at it as if willing it to decide for him. But the card continued to simply read:

_Monsieur and Madame Nicholas Delacour _

_And_

_Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley _

_Would enjoy your company_

Suddenly, Penelope bustled into the kitchen, trying to put her jewelry on while getting a cup of tea.

"Are you off to work today? I didn't think you had any appointments," Percy commented as she flitted about the kitchen in Muggle clothing.

"Professor McGonagall found a Muggle-born boy in the West End we've been trying to locate for a while. His parents are musicians and fell 'off the grid' so to speak. His accidental magic is off the charts! McGonagall feels it would be best if we reached out to him immediately," she said, beaming with excitement.

As always, Percy found himself enchanted by the powerful combination of Penelope's beauty, intelligence, and enthusiasm, all of which radiated from her long face as she spoke of her work. "You really love these kids, don't you?" Percy asked, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"It's important, Perce. This pureblood mania makes me sick. We are all human and deserve magic if the gift is given to us. To deny those that you feel are unworthy of that gift is like becoming a fascist and bending everyone to your will. I will fight if I have to, Percy." As she finished, Penelope looked apprehensively at Percy.

He knew what she was thinking -- that he would admonish her for her foolhardy carelessness and wild-eyed ideals. But in truth, he was filled with admiration, with an added dash of astonishment that he had managed to fall for a woman who would fit in so well with his family. Percy's chest swelled with pride at the thought. He rose from the table and moved to where she stood, still gazing at him apprehensively. He kissed her softly, savoring the taste of vanilla and toothpaste that lingered on her lips.

"Have a wonderful day, love," Percy whispered, wanting nothing more than to beg her to stay in bed with him all day.

"You too. And Percy," she started, handing him the invitation. "I'm sure they'd welcome you back on a happy day like today," she kissed him again and vanished.

Percy decided to stroll through the village in her absence, contemplating whether or not she might be right about his family.

Coming to the conclusion he preferred to make a more low key reunion with his parents, Percy set about some paperwork left over from Scrimgeour. When next he looked up, Percy noticed that night had crept upon him, and made a quick dinner in anticipation of Penny's return.

Penny came home through floo, shouting for Percy. He ran quickly to her, finding her pale and panicked.

"I've just gotten a patronus from Minerva, she was at the wedding," Penny started, shaking with fear.

"Tell me, Penny! How are they?" Percy shouted, grabbing her shoulders.

"I don't know! I can't!" Penny cried, trying to catch her breath between sobs.

Percy regained his composure and led Penelope toward the sofa, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands and imploring her to go on.

"The Ministry has fallen, and the Minister is dead. But from what Minerva told me, they are going to hide it behind a resignation. Shortly after, Death Eaters stormed the wedding. Minerva says they have it under control and to wait for word," she said, shaking visibly.

"Then I suppose we wait," said Percy, too overcome with fear to elaborate. He sat next to Penny and grabbed her hand. They sat in silence, listening to his watch tick away the seconds of uncertainty.

Suddenly, a flash of blue light above them revealed a patronus coming from the ceiling. The elegant dove floated down to them and spoke with a distinctive French accent.

"The family is safe. Ron, 'Arry, and 'Ermione are in hiding. We are being watched. Go to work Monday or they weel be suspicious," and the dove vaporized into the air around them. Silence and shock hung over them momentarily upon the dove's departure.

"Go back to work? Knowing what we know?" Percy asked, looking at Penny in an obvious state of shock.

"Wouldn't it look strange if every Weasley suddenly left their jobs?" replied Penelope. "Fleur said your family is already being watched. Why don't you just…"

"No, Penny!" interrupted Percy. "I can't go running back now. I wasn't there to help them, and now that the shite has hit the fan, I'll be a bloody coward if I go back to the Ministry!" he shouted.

"Better than dead," she whispered before walking into the bedroom. Percy heard the distinctive click of the lock, followed by the sound of gentle crying. Feeling petrified, and with no idea what to do, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Percy awoke groggily in the middle of the night as he felt the weight of someone settling next to him on the sofa. Without opening his eyes, he understood somehow that Penny had needed him more than she needed to be angry. Silently, Percy wrapped his arms around her, overcome with many emotions. Perhaps the most prevalent of these emotions was fear, but there was something deeper stirring within him. He tried sorting through the conflicting feelings, and knew he wouldn't be able to sleep again. Within moments, Penny's breathing began to slow, and suddenly Percy Weasley realized exactly which emotion had most overwhelmed him. Unable to deceive himself any longer, three words finally poured from Percy's lips for the first time.

"I love you," he groaned.

"I've loved you since I first met you," she whispered back, falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

Over the next week, work at The Ministry seemed to be "business as usual", however, it was tinged with foreboding from some and explosions of power from others. Percy had never walked the halls of any establishment with anything less than one hundred percent confidence, but now he was looking at his feet as he moved about the Ministry. He was afraid to look at the wrong person in the wrong way. The fear was palpable for all who couldn't identify with Dark, pureblood mania.

Percy had taken his meals alone for as long as he could remember, but this tumultuous week had brought company to his office every noon hour. Reg Cattermole, from Magical Maintenance, and Dirk Criswell had found a safe haven in Percy's office, which had been moved to a dark corner of the fifth floor following Rufus Scrimgeour's "resignation". They would sit and discuss, with carefully chosen words, the current goings on at the Ministry of Magic and what their next move should be. Contrary to his lengthy history of stipulation to the will of _Power_, Percy found himself joining in with his disaffected comrades more than he normally would have expected. This noon hour, however, was different.

Dirk came running in, looking pale. "Have you seen this? Have you heard?" he yelled. In his shaking hands was clutched a small interdepartmental memo. Percy plucked the memo from Dirk's hands, and opened it to see what the fuss was about. Percy was impatient, and found it hard to believe that anything could force such an emotional reaction from seasoned Ministry employees. Upon scanning it, however, Percy had to suppress the urge to vomit.

_Attention all Ministry of Magic Employees:_

_Exciting new Changes at the Ministry!_

_Due to the recent influx of impure wizards and theft of magical secrets, your Minister Pius Thickenese, and his advisors have decided to create a new department right here in The Ministry itself. _

_The Department of Muggle-Born Registration will be responsible for:_

_Registration of all so-called muggle-born witches and wizards._

_Interrogation of all such individuals regarding theft of magical secrets._

_Discipline of those found guilty._

_Certification of lineage of all witches and wizards to maintain purity._

_Delores Jane Umbridge will supervise this exciting new department. Let us all welcome her to this new position._

"Oh Merlin! My wife is a Half-Blood. It's only a matter of time before they get to her," lamented Reg as he slumped over in his chair.

Percy couldn't speak. His mouth was dry, and his throat was convulsing as his heart sank into his stomach. One thought consumed him: He had to find Penny. He had to hide her and keep her safe.

"Hermes!" he shouted, causing the two men in his office to jump at the sudden noise. He scribbled a quick note for Penny, asking that she meet him at home immediately. Then, he raced into the hallway and flooed to her flat immediately.

Penny was already waiting when he arrived. "Percy, wha…" she started, but Percy interrupted her by pulling her into a fierce embrace. Fear had rendered him speechless, so Percy handed her the memorandum that was still clutched in his hands.

Penny lowered herself onto the sofa; her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her face fighting the urge to cry out in fear.

"We have to hide, Penny! We have to pack our things and leave tonight. My Auntie Muriel has always liked me, I'm sure she'd take us," Percy said frantically.

"No…" Penny whispered.

"But Penelope, you're not safe out there," Percy cried, pointing frantically at the window.

"Your family are already marked as blood traitors and they are hanging onto safety by a thread. You're safe because your position at The Ministry is keeping you safe and most likely keeping suspicion off of your family. You can't leave now," she said gently, resignation in her voice.

Percy moved over to her on the sofa and grabbed her in his arms. Percy felt they had time before anyone would even think to look for Penny. There was time before Umbridge could really work her horrible magic. And in that time, Percy had convinced himself that someone would step up and put a stop to all of this madness. He breathed her in, panic subsiding at the thought that at least she was safe…for now.

* * *

Frost caked the windows as Valentine's Day darkened into night on the horizon. Weeks had turned into months and Voldemort's hold on The Ministry had not subsided. Penny was getting stir crazy, spending all day in the house, only able to duck out under hooded cloaks for short walks outside. She did yoga to keep in shape and pass the time. She frequently joked that she could bend in any way, except out the door.

Percy and Penny settled onto the sofa, eating some Valentine's chocolate for their special day and continuing their usual conversation, in which Percy lamented working in the horrifying establishment that was the Ministry of Magic, while Penny begged him to stay for security's sake. After last month's breech at the ministry (in which Percy had the undeniable feeling his brother was involved) the interrogations had become significantly more aggressive, resulting in the imprisonment of many muggle-born witches and wizards. Elsewhere across the country, disappearances led to doubts as to whether Muggle-borns were fleeing for safety, or had been abducted nefariously by overly zealous Death Eaters.

Reg and his wife had narrowly escaped during the chaos at the Ministry, and Criswell had vanished. Percy's lunches were lonely once again, and his days filled with fear.

Suddenly, the blue light of a Patronus could be seen descending from the ceiling. It was a cat with markings that framed its eyes like spectacles. Minerva McGonagall's panicked voice echoes through the flat.

"Penelope, the Carrows broke into my office and stole the list with which we have been working. They will eventually find you. You must flee to protect yourself!" warned the grey tabby cat, before the Patronus evaporated into thin air.

Yet before either could move, Percy heard two cracks of Apparation. Suddenly, he and Penelope were staring into the faces of Yaxley and Alecto Carrows.

"Penny! Apparate!" Percy shouted desperately. However, even as he spoke, Penny was bound in thick ropes and gagged.

"So mudblood slut, you've been recruiting Muggles to steal our magic, have you?" spat Yaxley.

"You get your damn hands off of her!" Percy shouted, raising his wand. But before he could utter a spell, a sharp blow came from Yaxley's wand and hit him squarely in the chest.

"We're going to give you a chance, Weeeeeesley, because you're a good little Ministry puppet who had enough sense to dissociate yourself from your family of Blood Traitors. But if you try to stop us, we'll kill you. We'll kill you, but only after we tear this little slut of yours apart," sneered Carrow menacingly. Percy let out a helpless whimper and Yaxley sneered grotesquely.

"Don't feel ashamed, we all go slumming sometimes," he said, a smile spreading to reveal his rotted teeth.

"Let's take her to your dungeon. Delores has been sending some there as Azkaban is quickly getting full," said Carrow. Yaxley nodded, and Percy watched as Penny was hauled away before his eyes. He barely registered that Yaxley had bound him to his chair upon leaving.

Percy sobbed, not even wanting to free himself. Darkness overtook him and left Percy wishing impotently for death. Without Penny, Percy was reverting once again to the version of himself he had been prior to his reunion with Penelope Clearwater…and _**that**_ was something Percy Weasley couldn't live with.

A soft hoot and a weight on his shoulder told Percy that Hermes had returned from his evening hunt. Percy's crying ceased as the felt the owl's sharp beak cutting into his wrists. Hermes was attempting to free him. The owl made short work of releasing Percy from the ropes, then soared around the ceiling victoriously before coming to rest on Percy's bent knees. Percy sat there, stroking Hermes, and sobbing into the night.

* * *

The next few months flashed by in a blur. Percy had one thing on his mind and one thing only: He must find Penny.

He kept his job at the Ministry, not as a front, but as a source of information. He carried with him a large notebook. Any whisper about Yaxley, dungeons, muggle-borns, or the resistance was promptly recorded. He was piecing information together slowly, but it was coming. Percy smirked ruefully, as Penny was the one who loved puzzles; she might even be impressed if only she weren't probably fighting for her life.

Then one night, as he drew yet another map of the possible locations of Yaxley's dungeon, Fleur's dove Patronus descended from his ceiling and landed on a stack of notes. Hermes flew off, obviously intolerant of the inferior creature. The dove spoke in the beautiful dulcet tones of Fleur.

"Zis is zee end. I know you want to fight. Go to Zee 'Og's 'Ead and walk through the portrait over the fire,"

Joy, fear, anxiety and closure flooded through Percy as he threw on his shoes. Soon he would see his brothers and fight alongside them. He would show his parents he was sorry. Most importantly, every step Percy took in the summer heat brought him one step closer to Penny.


	7. Clockwatching

**Chapter 6**

**Clockwatching**

_Take off both your shoes and clothes_

_I'll follow  
Undo corkscrew drink from the half of a_

_Broken bottle  
Lately we're running out of time, aren't we?_

_But how I guess by the subject_

_Of the best predicate is left unsaid  
when the matter is too delicate_

_My loneliness is evident  
and it's you._

_You're running through my mind  
and it makes me crazy_

Ron Weasley barely registered the pain in his knees as he Apparated and fell onto the porch of Shell Cottage. He groaned under the weight of Hermione's limp form, which was pressing shards of glass deeper into his arms. It was agonizing, but Ron would never put her down -- not until he saw Bill – not until he got her in a bed – and certainly not until he made sure she was okay. She had to be okay; there were no other options.

Ron pulled her up more fully into his arms, moving his face closer to hers. She was still warm, but her blood had begun mingling with his own, leaving maddening red spots all over his clothes. Shaking with fear, Ron took a gasping breath before quieting himself to listen for hers. A faint squeal of air resonated like music in his head. However, memories of her wracking screams of pain also lingered inside his mind, reminding him that she wasn't yet out of the woods.

"Bill!" Ron screamed through his strained throat. While waiting for his brother to arrive, he held Hermione even more tightly, rocking her back and forth while whispering, "Please be okay," as if it were a spell, over and over again.

"Ron! What the bloody hell happened?" Bill shouted, as he and Fleur rushed out their back door.

Ron rose to his feet with great difficulty. "Hermione," he groaned, looking at Bill and Fleur's stunned faces.

Fleur hurried over, her lips tight, looking determined not to give in to fear. She raised her wand, rapidly muttering spells.

"Zere doesn't seem to be any permanent damage, but we need to get her into a bed and get some potions into her," she said resolutely.

Without looking into the concerned faces of Dean, and Luna, who had just arrived behind him, Ron said simply, "Harry's supposed to be here with Dobby. Go and find him." He then turned and rushed up the stairs, never loosening his grip on Hermione. Instinctively, Ron took her to the small room he had stayed in during those few horrible weeks when he had walked away from his best friends.

Ron laid her gently on the bed, careful to place her bruised head on the pillow. Ron stood silently beside the bed, momentarily frozen as Hermione lie there, small and broken. He wasn't sure if he needed most to sob or vomit. He resolved, instead, to focus completely on Hermione until he could see her deep brown eyes and hear her beautiful voice yelling at him for one reason or another.

Ron took his wand, said "Aguamenti," and watched as water fell into the basin by the bed. After seating himself in the wooden chair that sat beside the bed, Ron conjured a small fire beneath the basin, causing the water warm to a more comfortable temperature. Taking a towel from beside the basin, he soaked a part of the white fabric in the soothing water. Ron then ran the cloth gingerly over Hermione's battered face in an attempt to wash away the blood, and clean out her wounds. He slowly moved down to her neck, running the towel carefully over the gash created by Bellatrix Lestrange.

When a small whimper passed through Hermione's lips, he abandoned his ministrations. Taking her hand in his, Ron leaned his face close to hers and whispered, "Shhhh. It's okay. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you."

Despite his efforts to comfort her, Hermione's face screwed up in pain, and tears squeezed slowly from her eyes. Heartbroken, Ron gripped her hand more tightly, as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"It hurts, Ron!" Hermione cried, as she turned her doe eyes toward him. They were red and riddled with pain. Ron's head fell to her chest.

"'Mione! I'm so sorry. I begged them to take me. It should have been me. You were screaming and I couldn't get to you!" Ron cried into her chest. He could feel her shaking with sobs as well.

"Where does it hurt?" asked Ron, pulling back to look over her tortured body.

"Everywhere," she whispered. Ron felt his jaw clench as he ran his hands lightly around her face. She closed her eyes and pressed her hand over his.

Just then, Fleur rushed in with pain potion and a wand. Ron moved to give her room, but Hermione's nails dug quickly into his arm.

"Don't go," she begged, looking slightly frightened.

Ron sat back down and placed his hands over hers, leaning close to her ear, and whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, love. Not ever."

But even as he spoke, Hermione vanished in a pool of blood. He found himself surrounded in smoke and chaos. He was in a tux, dodging wedding guests, trying to follow her voice. Just as he reached her outstretched hand, he found himself encased in stone. She was screaming as he pounded against the walls -- walls that began to drip blood as her face flashed across his mind.

Ron sat up yelling until he realized he was in his room at The Burrow. He ran his hands over his face, wiping away the sweat and tears, before looking over to the other side of the room. To his relief, and slight suspicion, he found that Harry wasn't there. So, Ron decided to stretch his legs and get some tea…and who did he think he was kidding? He wanted to check on Hermione.

He walked slowly and carefully down to the landing where Ginny's room was located. He pushed the door open to see Hermione lying there, sleeping soundly. Ron stood silently, mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest. Her hands were twisted firmly into the sheets, and her hair spread beautifully across her pillow. She appeared otherworldly to Ron, as she always had, almost since the moment he first met her. Something had drawn his attention to her, even at the tender age of eleven. Even then she had become precious to him. She was someone he had sworn to protect, to preserve like some sort of fairy tale treasure he had heard of as a child.

But this treasure had almost been lost to him so many times. Hermione. His Hermione …. had been taken from him, hurt or scared, more times than he could count. Each occasion had cut him ever more deeply as he had become increasingly more familiar with her. The feeling had grown until finally, whenever she was away, Ron had discovered he wasn't the same person. In her absence, he felt an unbearable pain that folded over him in innumerable ways. There was pain in the fear (and near reality) of losing her to death and destruction. There was pain in the thought of losing himself, and never being able to find her again. And there was pain in the thought that she might some day walk away from him; a pain not yet realized, but one that ate constantly at Ron, a pain that constituted the worst of his fears.

As Hermione stirred, Ron rushed down the steps, hoping he had not been seen. He padded into the kitchen and set about heating water; relieved he apparently hadn't been caught staring at her. Suddenly a laugh from outside drew him to the window. He saw Ginny, laughing wildly as Harry raced after her on his broom. Ron was in shock. Ginny had thought Harry was dead. Harry had thought he had lost everything, but there they were, living life like they were on a Quidditch pitch. Ron wondered how it was that so much fear and doubt hadn't hardened those two. Where was the fear of loss and rejection that he was currently feeling?

"How do they do it?" Ron whispered aloud in wonderment.

"I guess it just comes easily for some people," answered a soft voice from behind. Ron turned to see Hermione standing there, looking up at him with sad eyes, and holding two cups of steaming tea.

Ron was momentarily struck by her silent entrance, but swallowed the lump in his throat, took the cup from her hands, and seated himself at the table.

Hermione sat next to him, fingering the rim of her cup while avoiding his gaze. His heart burst seeing her there, looking so melancholy. But at least she was there with him. He didn't have to cry for her, worry for her, or fear for both of them. In fact, Ron Weasley was starting to question this line of thinking when he heard a small sniffle.

He looked up to see Hermione gazing resolutely at her tea, obviously willing herself not to cry.

"Hey…" Ron started, while reaching out to her. His stomach lurched when she pulled away abruptly, moving from the table over to the window.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, startled by her reaction.

Hermione turned to face him, her hair swinging around, and anger flashing in her eyes.

"Why should I tell you what's bothering me? You don't actually care!" she said harshly, trying to hide the shaking in her voice.

"How can you say that?" Ron shouted, feeling the ire rise in his chest. Her words stung him to unimaginable levels. He cared so very much for her! In fact, sometimes the intensity was too much to bear, and it gave way to a fear of losing her that just wouldn't subside.

"You won't even talk to me. Harry told me you've been having nightmares, but you keep pretending like nothing's wrong. You're cold and distant. Ron, you barely even look at me. What's changed?" she pleaded, tears falling freely from her deep brown eyes.

"Everything's changed! That's the problem," Ron croaked, trying not to be weakened by her sobs.

Hermione stopped suddenly, looking like he had just hit her. "Well then, we'll take things back to the way they were," she said quietly, walking out of the kitchen.

The pain reflected in Hermione's eyes lingered in Ron's conscience, causing his heart to break for her, and his fears to escape his defenses.

"After all of this, I'm going to lose you anyway, aren't I? I really can't avoid it."

"What are you on about, Ronald? What did you mean 'lose me anyway'?" she asked, moving back into the kitchen.

"It doesn't matter now, Hermione," Ron said, utterly defeated.

"Yes it bloody well does!" she shrieked.

Ron was taken back, rendered speechless by her choice of words.

"When it comes to you, everything matters!" Hermione continued. It mattered when you said I was a nightmare. It mattered when you cast that spell on Malfoy, and ended up eating slugs for me. It even mattered when we fought about Crookshanks and Scabbers! When you were angry with me about Victor, I cried for days. When you were nervous about Quidditch, I was nervous too. Oh Merlin! When you were kissing _**her, **_it just about killed me and …. I died inside when you almost died," Hermione concluded before choking back a gasping sob.

Ron tried to speak, but couldn't find the words as she hurriedly rubbed her eyes. Unable to stand his silence, Hermione resumed her litany.

"When I kissed you, I know it was sudden, but I meant it. Because with you, every second seems to matter," Hermione whispered, her face falling dejectedly into her hands. At last, she looked up at him again, a little softer, but still hurt immensely. "I have been so afraid of these feelings for you for so long, and after all we went through this year, it became so real. When I kissed you, I felt like I could do anything, and the fear went away. Why doesn't it feel that way for you too?" she whimpered.

As he had done since he was only thirteen years old, Ron went weak at the sight of her. Finally, struck by the magnitude of her tears, Ron found his voice.

"Oh 'Mione! Don't cry. Merlin, please don't cry!" Ron stammered, fighting tears himself as he wrapped his arms around her. She fought it for a second before finally letting go and sobbing into his chest. After a few agonizing seconds, she turned her shining eyes up at him.

"Just tell me, Ron. Please," she pleaded, running her hands up his arms. Ron tried to fight it, tried to will himself to wall off his emotions, but he had never been any good at that sort of thing with Hermione. Unable to continue hurting her, he opted for the nothing-left-to-lose approach.

"It matters to me, too," he started, trying to muster up some semblance of courage. "It mattered when that troll had you cornered. It mattered when I saw you lying there, petrified, and I couldn't do anything to help you. I almost lost you when I was twelve, for Merlin's sake And it mattered when we were in the Shrieking Shack and it looked like we were all going to die, but you put on a brave face and stood by me and Harry. Your strength just made me care more ….. It killed me when you showed up at the Yule Ball, looking more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. But you were with _**him**_. It mattered when I heard you'd been cursed at the Ministry, and when I saw you lying there in bed, just like you had during our second year, Then it happened again, a fear that if not for the choice of curse or the quick thinking of Neville Longbottom, you would have been gone from me forever. It mattered seeing you crying all last year, and knowing most of it was all my fault. I died a little when you were screaming at Malfoy Manor. I kept yelling for you, but I couldn't do anything to get to you. She was going to…" Ron couldn't speak anymore. He just held on to her tight, avoiding her eyes.

"Ron…" she whispered.

"Don't you see? I've almost lost you so many times. These visions just keep playing in my dreams at night, only I can never get to you, or you vanish, and your screams just get louder and louder. I couldn't get to you Hermione. You were slipping away and there was nothing I could do," he said, moaning miserably into her shoulder. Ron took no notice of the wracking sobs that soaked Hermione's clothing, and tried to continue to talk. "And now that we're safe, I don't have to worry about that anymore," he said as he stepped away from her embrace and began to pace wildly around the kitchen.

Hermione went to say something, but was promptly interrupted.

"But now, it's okay. You're here. And it feels so good to see you and feel you and not be scared to bloody death all the damn time that someone is going to torture you or curse you into oblivion. The nightmares I can deal with, you being gone I can't," Ron said, looking wildly up at her.

"But Ron…" she started again, but Ron raised his hand up, tears in his eyes.

"You could still leave though. Now that this is all over, who I really am will become clear to you. I'm a tosser. I left you and Harry to fend for yourselves. I couldn't protect you. I'm shite. And it's just a matter of time before I screw up and you take off."

"No, Ron, it's not true! You came back!"

"Yeah I helped Harry on the hunt, but that's because we had to, and I even tried to scarper out of that. After all that we've been through, all the close calls, I don't want to end up without you just because I'm a git, and your brilliant mind will come to realize how wrong I am for you," Ron said, walking onto the porch, trying to hide from her penetrating eyes, knowing that he had finally pushed her too far.

After a few moments passed, Ron walked miserably out to the yard, knowing he had finally lost her for good. Yet he still hoped that, perhaps, she wouldn't totally abandon him -- that he could still have her as his best friend -- safe and sound -- near him in some capacity.

To his surprise, a sniffle told him that Hermione had followed Him out into the chilly night air.

"Ron…" she said. Ron stood frozen, unable to turn around and face her.

"Look at me!" she cried, the pain in her voice too much to bear.

At last, Ron turned to see her standing there, looking completely broken and lost. The sight made him hate himself even more. Nevertheless, he walked up to her and couldn't help but wrap his arms around her again, even after everything he said.

"Ron, Ron, Ron…why are you doing this?" she cried into his shoulder.

"I don't know, Hermione. It just hurts so much to think about losing you. I can't do it anymore," he cried, clinging to her desperately, like she would vanish right there on the spot. His own personal treasure was crying into his arms, as he cried into hers, but still she shone like a jewel in all of his dark thoughts. She looked up at him and spoke in choked and chopped phrases.

"Ron, I meant it when I said you were amazing in the chamber. But it's not just your skills, or how you've contributed to the wild-eyed situations we've encountered. It's simply something that's in you, and it's something I can't live without," said Hermione emphatically. "I know you, Ronald Weasley. I see clearly what's inside of you. Can't you see how I get lost in your eyes?" she added before stopping momentarily, as if to prove her point by gazing deeply at him.

"Ron, you wear your heart on your sleeve, and with just one look I can tell what you're feeling. And when I see all of that intensity shining back at me, it takes my breath away," she continued, lips quivering.

Ron didn't know if he could stand to feel her gaze upon him much longer without completely breaking down. He heard Hermione take a deep breath, and then felt her delicate fingers under his chin, turning his face to hers. He could no longer avoid her penetrating eyes.

"You make me laugh, Ron, even when I think I'll never be able to laugh again. You make me feel protected, even when I think I'm strong enough to do it myself. You balance out my moods. Your smile lights my world, and makes everything dark disappear."

As her words washed over him, Ron's fears began to fade. He started to speak, but Hermione silenced him by placing a finger gently to his lips.

"Let me say this now," she continued. "It's not just what you've done, it's how you've done it, Ronald. Don't you see that? You are brave, and loyal, and you have a heart bigger than my whole world. Can't you see the man I ran toward, and kissed with everything I had in me?" she said desperately, never breaking contact with his eyes, even as tears fell from hers.

Hermione's amazing eyes had always possessed the power bring Ron to his knees, and now that they were looking at him with such tenderness, he thought he might crack into a million pieces.

"Understand this very clearly. I'm not going anywhere, love – not now -- not ever," she whispered.

Those final words vibrated through him like a bell. Dash all of his insecurities! Ron couldn't deny that she was perfection personified -- something precious. Relieved of his fears, he grabbed her with such much force that she was again lifted off of her feet. This time, however, as his lips met hers, Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist.

Ron pressed his forehead to hers and smiled. For the first time since he could remember, all really was well. As long as he had Hermione, he didn't need anything else.


	8. After an Afternoon

_**AN: Now that we've hit the halfway mark, I'm going to thank some people. Well there's always Tom Bombadil, who is the best, quickest and most thorough beta EVER.**_

_**But this chapter is dedicated to Petty Bureaucrat. I don't really know who this person is, not even their gender. However, since my first chapter of my first fic, they've been giving me great feedback on a consistant basis. That's an awesome reader!**_

_I bare my windowed self untamed and untrained  
Dreams that hardly touch our complexions truest faults  
If room enough for both my drowsy spirit shall fall  
Bold waves tumble to the season of my heart_

_Face to palm  
Tear to tear  
And  
Mouth to tongue  
Heart to ground  
Heart to ground  
Say, "I am in love"_

The night air smelled sweet as it blew past Harry's face, his broom racing him around high in the air. The contentment he always enjoyed while flying had become even more pronounced now, because Harry knew it – the conflict that had defined his entire life -- was finally over. A giggle and a flash of red whizzed past him. There was no need to draw up his wand, no need to set up protective charms, and no there was no pain in his forehead to be hidden from those closest to him. All he needed to do now was to chase after this little red sprite and claim his prize.

He pressed on harder, accelerating rapidly to catch up with her at last. But Harry's efforts were frustrated when she swerved, changing direction very quickly, and almost knocking him off his broom. He had to compose himself quickly to follow after her, as she sped toward the distant hills.

"Oi! Potter! I thought you were supposed be some sort of all-powerful hero. Didn't you fly a bloody dragon? You can't even keep up with a mere mortal!" shouted Ginny Weasley, hovering just above his reach to taunt him, before zipping off in the opposite direction. However, Harry Potter was not to be toyed with on this night. He flipped over, doing a backwards tumble, and managed to steer himself right beside the gloating redhead.

She shrieked as he grabbed hold of her broom, stopping her in her tracks. "Well I guess you win this round, Potter," she said, grinning slyly.

"Oh yeah? And what's the prize?" Harry asked, lifting his eyebrows. It was basically a rhetorical question, as he knew very well what he had won.

Ginny leaned forward on her broom and pressed her lips softly to his, pulling back momentarily before delicately kissing him again. Her sweet taste entranced Harry so completely that he knew he needed to get on solid ground before he lost control. He pulled pack to offer this suggestion, but was faced with a startling view. Ginny's eyes were still closed, and a look of deep sadness was etched upon her face. Harry's stomached clinched painfully at the sudden change in Ginny's disposition. He was sure he'd never seen her look so forlorn.

"Ginny," Harry whispered, gently reaching out to touch her face. Her eyes snapped open, and she put a smile where her frown had been.

"Come on, let's ground these brooms for a while," she replied, grabbing his hand as they spiraled down. Harry wasn't sure what he had seen on her face, but he knew he wanted to find out.

They dismounted their brooms while Harry relished the slightly dizzy feeling he always experienced after flying for long periods of time. He looked over at Ginny, who had her eyes closed once again. She was swaying from the dizzy feeling, as well. Harry sidled over to her and slid an arm around her waist. Pulling her close, he rested his chin on the top of her head. Overwhelmed with emotion, Harry felt as if he could stand there forever, running his hands over her back, smelling her hair, and concentrating on her and her alone. It seemed as though many moments passed before Ginny backed away, hastily wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. Harry's heart broke seeing her so sad. He reached out, placing his hands on her face and kissing her forehead.

"Is everything alright, Ginny?" Harry asked, searching her dark eyes for answers.

"I'm fine, really," she said, flashing a small grin at him. "It's nearly five in the morning and I'm not planning on going back to sleep. Fancy just lying here in the grass for a while?"

"Sounds great," answered Harry, conjuring a blanket and lying down next to Ginny, arms behind his head. He felt Ginny lie down, as her hair ticked his elbow. They lay there in silence, listening to the sound of the breeze as it wafted through the garden, and melodic chirping of the summer crickets. Harry smiled slightly. He loved The Burrow almost as much as Hogwarts. Harry felt warmth at his side as Ginny pulled herself closer to him. In response, he rolled over to face her and wrapped his arm around her waist. She took his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. The electricity from her touch arced through Harry, who had to work hard to choke back a sigh.

Ginny Weasley had always been a powerful force lingering in the back of his mind. She was an ever-present source of warmth in his heart, and the impetus behind a large number of his thoughts and actions. When things were at their worst and most hopeless, Harry could retreat to that place within him, and find the strength that Ginny always provided.

Now, observing her prone form and slumped shoulders -- her hands clinging desperately to his -- made it clear that it was his time to be the strong one. He loved Ginny for her composure, he elegance, and powerful way she had always faced challenges, but he realized now that she was building up walls. Harry promised himself to take care of her, to make things better for her. It was a task he took close to his heart, one he would gladly spend his whole life gladly doing if necessary.

Harry leaned forward so his lips were almost touching her ear, and whispered, "Why can't you sleep, love?"

"Oh it's nothing, just a bit…ummmm… restless," she said without commitment.

"Ginny, I know we haven't had a lot of time together, but I do know you, and I haven't seen that look in your eyes since you were eleven years old," Harry said, sitting up and looking down at her. Something flashed on Ginny's face, as if she were bracing against the onslaught of tears, but they never came. Instead, her eyes blazed and her jaw clenched.

"I'm really okay, Harry. Can we just drop it?" She said, bringing her knees up to her chest and curling up against the tree, like a cat.

Fear struck Harry suddenly, and he began to worry that he had crossed a line while trying to push her to talk. He sensed immediately that she would pull away from him. Hell, that's what he would do if the situation were reversed. Deciding to test the waters, Harry gently enveloped her fingertips, which had been curled over her bare knees. She didn't look at him, yet she threaded her fingers around his. Harry sat there quietly, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, and looking out over the sky.

A distraction from the unspoken tension caught Harry's attention. Ron was moving quickly across the lawn, hunched over and wiping his eyes. Hermione was trotting after him. She kept reaching out toward his shoulder, but pulling back each time, as if suddenly changing her mind.

Harry looked over at Ginny to see her perked up, with her glassy eyes moving back and forth between the pair. Harry mimicked her as they watched Ron and Hermione through the shelter of darkness and tall grass.

Harry laughed to himself. He felt sort of ridiculous watching his two best friends having a very intense conversation…and being in suspense about it! But then again, they had not really opened up to him about what had been going on.

Of course, Ron and Hermione weren't alone in that respect. If he were truthful with himself, everyone seemed to be walking around Harry as if they were on eggshells. It seemed as if they all thought Harry didn't need any more burdens. He wondered ruefully if anyone realized that, with the demise of Voldemort, not much was burdensome to him anymore.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away as Ron and Hermione exchanged heated words, with tears pouring down both of their faces. But the air around them seemed to change as Hermione reached up and took Ron's face between her hands. The conversation turned into whispers as Ron's hands began running up and down her arms. As suddenly as it had happened two weeks ago, Ron kissed Hermione, whose legs swung up around his waist. Harry turned toward Ginny to share a smile, but found something startlingly different on her face.

A choked sob escaped Ginny's lips, her eyes never leaving her brother as tears began falling down her cheeks. Harry panicked. He had never seen Ginny cry openly before, and he had no idea what to do. Harry moved in front of her, placed a hand on her chin, and turned her eyes up to him.

"Gin," he whispered, moving a thumb across her cheek to capture a tear.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I know you don't need this right now, I'll just…" she started as she got up and ran to the house.

Harry sat there, temporarily struck at her quick departure before he got up to follow. A soft click told him that she had entered the bathroom, tucked under the stairs off the living room. Harry pressed his forehead against the wooden door and felt his heart break at the sound of Ginny crying alone.

He slid dejectedly down against the door. She was wrong. Contrary to what she had been thinking, Harry desperately needed to comfort her. He needed to help ease her pain. Thoughts of Ginny had been the only thing that helped him survive those long months in hiding. He owed her more than she could possibly imagine, and he longed to pay his debt by loving her as fully as possible. It was the only thing he wanted to do now that he was free of the horrible burdens he had carried all his life.

Frustration mingled with pride, and washed through Harry. He couldn't allow her to do this now. She needed to let out her fears and sadness. He knew with certainty that he couldn't stand to let his friends continue to sacrifice themselves for him.

"No!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand at the door and opening it with ease. What he saw almost shattered his bravado. There was Ginny, looking smaller and more helpless than he had ever seen, sitting fully clothed in the empty, claw-footed tub. Her large brown eyes turned to him in shock; wet stains streaking off her face. Without considering the clenched jaw and blazing anger in her expression, Harry grabbed the side of the tub and crawled in. Putting his legs on either side of Ginny's, Harry wrapped his arms around her curled knees. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her.

"For so long now, you have stood strong for your family, for the DA, and for me. You have allowed me to be stupidly noble, and still cared about me when I came back. You have fought fiercely beside me, even when we weren't right next to each other." Harry stilled himself so his emotions wouldn't gain control over his vocal chords. "And you…you held me when it was all over."

Ginny's head fell to her knees and Harry ran his fingers through her long red tresses.

"Just let me try to make it better. It's okay to need people. I would love to be needed for once," he said, lightly smirking at her.

Ginny leapt forward, wrapping her arms around Harry's neck. Her sobs shook him to his core as she pressed her face against his shoulder. Harry held onto her as if she were his own breath, as if he needed her to survive. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, sticking his legs out so she could lean fully against his chest. He grabbed his wand and cast a _Muffliato_ and a locking charm. Isolated from the rest of the world, they sat together in the bathtub as Ginny let out the sobs, which Harry theorized had been hiding inside her since the end of the war.

"Harry, I can't get Tom's voice out of my head. It shook the walls of that damned room and demanded that we turned you over to him. That man, that monster who invaded me was going to take you from me. I just knew it!" Ginny exclaimed, grabbing the sides of her head.

Harry understood all to well what it was like to have no control over an invasion like that, and tried to soothe her with his touch.

"And then I saw you," Ginny continued. "And you told me to wait, but I knew he was out there, ready to hurt more innocent people. His voice kept echoing through me."

She shivered, looking pale. Harry took his advantage of the pause to place a gentle kiss her forehead, hoping to restore some of her warmth.

"Go on, love, I've got all the time in the world," he said, running his hands over every spot of bare skin on her body.

"You were gone. You had done the noble thing and had gone to face Voldemort. Fuck! Fred had already died, and you were walking to your death! I'd lost my brother and didn't even get to say my goodbyes!" she shouted, turning angry fists against him, but too weak from the sadness to do any physical harm. Harry held her close so she would stop struggling.

"Ginny, please forgive me. Please," Harry said, crying for her, crying for himself, and crying for everything they had lost.

"There were so many people to help. I didn't even get to kiss him on the cheek one last time. That girl, she needed me more than Fred," Ginny whispered, her eyes glazing over as if she was reliving the entire night. Harry remembered his last vision of Ginny before he walked to what he thought would be his death; her leaning over a girl, trying to comfort the injured warrior.

"I'm sorry, Gin. If I had said goodbye to you, I could never have done it. I couldn't have left you like that. My will would have broken, and Voldemort would have won. I can't explain what it was like to learn that I had to die. But I can tell you that you were the last though I had when he…when it…" Try as he might, Harry simply couldn't put into words where he had gone or what had happened to him on that horrible night.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered, lips shaking, but fire in her eyes. "You were dead and he was mocking us, and it was like he was inside of me again, taking the best parts of me along with you," she whimpered.

Harry was speechless at what she had gone through. He would have done anything on that night to prevent her from suffering like that, but it had been beyond his power.

"Looking at Ron tonight -- watching him finally get the perfect ending – well, it tore me up inside. I was totally happy for him, but so fucking angry at the same time! My big brothers have all made me feel loved and important in their own ways. Ron would protect me from everything, even very large dragonflies. Bill would teach me spells behind mum's back. Charlie would take me out on hikes in the woods while showing me every animal he could name. Percy would read muggle fairy tales to me when I couldn't sleep. But Fred and George…they would laugh with me." Ginny stopped for a moment, as tears continued to fall down her cheeks. At last, she continued, "When I close my eyes, I can still year Fred's deep laugh -- his hearty chuckle -- as he chased after me in the yard. I'm never going to hear that again. Fred is gone and George will never be the same." As she concluded, Ginny increased her grip on Harry, holding him tightly, as if he were going to disappear while she was speaking.

Words weren't enough anymore, as Harry saw that she could no longer articulate all of her pain. So Harry did what he had ached to do all night. Looking into those beautiful, tragic features, Harry kissed Ginny with so much fervor, that a moan of surprise vibrated on their lips. The surprise didn't last long, however, as Ginny quickly ran her tongue across his lips, seeking entrance. Harry answered, reaching deep and tasting her as completely as he could. He wanted to cover every part of her like a blanket, to wrap her up -- to protect her from her grief.

Without breaking away from his lips, Ginny somehow managed to move onto Harry's lap amidst the high walls of the tub. His arms brushed against her bare legs and that small contact with Ginny's bare skin made all the energy in Harry move directly to his center. He pressed up involuntarily, only to find Ginny pressing back into him.

They moaned at the same time, as a year of longing, need, pain, fear, and love sought desperately to escape them. Harry was taken hostage by his body's primal urges. He kissed Ginny hard and moved to her neck. He slid the straps of her black camisole off her shoulders and kissed all the exposed skin he could find. She pulled at his shirt, yanking it over his head. Her eyes burned with fire, and her hair mimicking her gaze by flying in flames around her face. The sorrow in her deep brown eyes was quickly replaced with need.

Harry responded appropriately, pulling her hard against him and pressing his hips into hers. She moaned again, almost causing Harry to lose control. The feeling of her warm body engulfing him was becoming incredibly intense. He moved the shirt up her body, anxious to see more skin, to feel more of her. She leaned back against the opposite wall of the porcelain tub, allowing Harry to kiss the pale freckled skin of her stomach. He even became brave enough to lick her smooth skin up to the point where her shirt had gathered beneath her bra. Harry heard a satisfied purr echo from her lips.

He kissed back up her body until he reached her lips. Harry paused to look deeply into her eyes before kissing her gently, trying to memorize the feeling of her lips. Ginny took one of his hands and slid it under her shirt; pressing his palm against one of her small, tender breasts. He whispered her name without even realizing it, running his hands all over this new territory while breathlessly kissing her with everything in him.

Finally getting up the nerve, Harry pulled Ginny's shirt over her head. He was immediately captivated by the sight of her porcelain white skin, dotted with whimsical freckles, and the curves which rounded into her perfect breasts encased in white cotton decorated by tiny golden snitches. He couldn't help himself, as he stared at her with reverence.

To his surprise, Ginny rose suddenly from the tub and stepped out. Harry panicked, and jumped up as quickly as if the tub had filled with hot coals.

"I'm sorry Ginny. I don't …. I don't know what came over me. You're just so … so beautiful …. and I got carried away. Merlin! I'm so sorry!" Harry stammered, sitting on the toilet and running his hands through his hair.

Ginny let out a soft giggle that caused Harry to look up. Without a word, she flicked her wand and the tub grew slightly wider, and to Harry's astonishment…and excitement…it began filling with fluffy red and gold cushions.

"I know it's not exactly saving the world, but it'll do for right now," Ginny said, kissing Harry softly and pulling back as if she were trying to read his reaction.

"This is just about perfect!" answered Harry. "Sod the rest of the world. They can save themselves." Harry smirked playfully, flicking his wand to light candles and cast a glow over their magically reconfigured love nest.

Ginny smiled and leaned her head against his bare shoulder, holding him close to her while swaying lightly on the linoleum. They were pressed so closely against one another that a thin sheet of parchment could not have been slipped between them. Her chest was pressed warmly against his, while Harry wrapped his arms gently around the small of her back. He began spreading light kisses over her shoulder, until she pulled away from his embrace.

Ginny looked almost scared, which was something Harry had rarely seen in her. He started to move toward her but was stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her bare breasts, revealed slowly as she slid out of her bra. Harry was momentarily struck at how completely amazing she looked. Her pale breasts and pink nipples peaking out from her long red hair, which had fallen in waves over her nude form. She looked up at him, smiling at the look on his face.

The bravado and downright cheekiness of Ginny Weasley almost made Harry swallow his tongue as she turned around slowly and shimmied out of her shorts, revealing simple white knickers. She stretched out, her long arms rising over her head, revealing her lean and muscular back. She was preening for him, and Harry was enjoying the show. While watching her, his hand inadvertently started to stroke himself through his ever-tightening jeans.

Ginny then slowly moved out of her last shred of clothing, revealing to Harry the small curves of her bum and the long lines of her legs. Harry let out a groan of longing; she was too far from him, standing all the way over on the other side of the loo. He rushed over to her and kissed her, hoping to taste everything he had just seen in her kiss. She jumped up, and her naked form wrapped around his still clothed one. Harry pulled back, temporarily startled by how fast things were moving.

"Ginny, if we don't stop now, I won't be able to," he groaned, moaning at the warmth wrapped around his waist.

"Oh Harry! I don't want to stop. I want to stay this way forever. I want to feel something good, something real. I want it to all disappear for a little. I want that -- and more -- with you, and you alone." She pressed her forehead to his, while Harry slowly put her down. He took a deep breath, knowing that he had to get over the next part without shaking.

Harry gazed deeply into her bright brown eyes. Looking cautiously hopeful, he undid the buttons on his jeans and slowly slip them past his feet. She moved closer to him, allowing him the chance to run his hands lightly up her sides. Placing one hand gently on her face, Harry kissed her in a way he hoped would tell her how much he loved her. The kiss broke when he felt her hand reach into his boxers and wrap around his very hard cock.

"Gods Ginny!" Harry yelped, pressing his face into her shoulder. She continued gently stroking him, as they both breathed heavily from the intimacy of their actions. Harry eventually took her hand away; fearful he wouldn't be much fun if she didn't stop right away.

Harry took her hand and guided her over to the tub; trying not to go completely insane from having the most beautiful woman he had ever seen standing naked next to him. They climbed into the bath of pillows at the same time, and Harry lie down beside Ginny. He began to run his hands lightly over her belly; fearful to reach where he very much wanted to go.

"Gin, this is completely new to me, and I have no idea what I'm doing. Please, tell me what you want," he moaned in her ear, his erection throbbing painfully.

She smiled radiantly at his confession that he had never gone this far with anyone else.

"It's new to me, too. Just touch me, Harry. Please!"

It was all she had to say. Harry reached toward her center, and pressed one tentative finger softly inside her wet folds. She moaned in response and pressed against him. He then found that two fingers elicited an even more enthusiastic reaction. Soon he was moving his fingers in and out with the rhythm of her hips.

Harry's heart soared to be so intimately connected with the woman for whom he had ached for almost a full year, but somehow it wasn't enough. He longed for more –for a way to make up for the pain she had endure in his absence. The feel of her skin and the scent of her arousal were driving him mad with desire when, almost instinctively, he knew he absolutely had to taste Ginny. So, nervously, Harry began to string kiss down her body until he reached a tuft of soft red hair, perfectly placed like a patch of flowers over his destination. Harry spread Ginny's lips open and tentatively licked against her opening. The moans emanating from her told him he was doing something right. Moments later, when he found a small bump between her swollen lips, Ginny screamed his name in pleasure.

In a matter of moments, Ginny was clutching the sides of the tub, her knees raised, and her breath coming in chopped and uneven bursts. She was moaning and writhing so much that Harry had to still her hips with his free hand. He pressed two fingers back inside of her and quickened his pace. Soon, as her body began to shake, Ginny let out a feral cry. After her body began returning to normal, she pulled Harry quickly back up to her, and kissed him full on the mouth. Harry groaned ecstatically at the thought of what she tasted. He pulled back to find tears in her eyes, but didn't have to question them this time, because he had them too. He loved her, more than he could possibly explain, and now that they could be together safely, he planned to show her in every possible way.

"Harry," Ginny whispered, pulling him on top of her.

Harry propped himself up on his elbow, stroking the sides of her face. "I don't know, Gin. I understand it's supposed to be painful the first time. I really don't think I could handle doing that," he whispered, concern coursing through him

"Harry, I need you more than you will ever know. It's going to hurt no matter when the first time is. But I want you now. I want you to feel me, to be with me," she said, with force and determination.

Oh, Gin, you have no idea how much I want you, too," Harry replied. Breathing deeply, he poised above her entrance, shaking slightly on his arms. Finally, he pressed slowly into her, until he heard her gasp and hold her breath. Harry let a guttural moan escape him at the glorious feeling of being hers, of being completely inside her. Her face was scrunched up in pain and her nails were digging into his arms.

Harry leaned forward and kissed her, trying to soothe away the unavoidable pain. He whispered her name repetitively, trying to convince her he was there for her -- that he loved her -- but unable to find words to adequately express the depth of his emotions.

"Harry, please," Ginny whimpered, encouraging Harry to move inside her. She pushed back against him this time, and Harry's fears subsided, and his stomach lurched at the overwhelming sensation of it all. He quickened his pace as she writhed pleasurably beneath him. Months – no, -- years of fear, pain, and doubt were banished with a few hard thrusts, as Harry came inside of Ginny, yelling from an area of his throat he didn't even know existed.

As he slowed, Harry whispered her name again, over and over, and she answered back with his. It was like a chant of survival, as they clung to one another.

Harry pulled away from Ginny and wrapped himself around her, pulling her back against his chest.

"Harry, will you stay a while?" Ginny asked, moving even closer to him.

"Forever," whispered Harry, giving way to extreme exhaustion.


	9. Life is Wonderful

**Chapter 8**

**Life is Wonderful**

_And it takes no time to fall in love  
But it takes you years to know what love is  
And it takes some fears to make you trust  
It takes some tears to make it rust  
It takes the dust to HAVE it polished_

"Tell me again why we can't use magic?" Dean Thomas asked, hoisting one end of an unconscious woman up by her ankles and groaning under the strain.

"Because she might get scared," said George Wealsey, as he gently placed a hand under each of her shoulders and lifted her up. He looked sadly into her still face the entire time.

As he trudged back to The Burrow, Dean couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed, not to mention guilty. He hadn't been aware that this frantic lost girl was a muggle. His actions, coupled with George's Apparating, and Harry and Ginny's flying, had scared her to the point of fainting. Obviously she was important to George, and Dean wanted to do what he could to help, but he had more pressing concerns. He felt bad about having to leave.

"I'm so sorry mate! I didn't know she was a Muggle. I just thought she was lost. And when I asked her where the Lovegoods lived, she asked if I knew where you lived. I just figured she was a witch since she was looking for you," explained Dean, as they carried her over the threshold.

George didn't say anything, even as they moved through the house in darkness. Instead, he kept gazing down at this mysterious woman with panic, fear and, most disturbingly, tenderness etched on his face.

Dean could hear people shouting in the kitchen, but didn't want to ask questions for fear of being kept at the Burrow longer than he wanted. So he decided to make motions to take his leave.

"You reckon we should get some waking potion? Maybe we could give her a quick 'Ennervate'!" Dean said. He wasn't the kind of guy to leave an injured person behind, so he tried finding a quick solution in order to get him away from the Weasleys, and over to Luna.

"She's a fucking Muggle!" shouted George, at the same time, someone was shouting in the kitchen. With all this shouting, Dean was shocked no one was waking up. Then again, these were Weasleys, and they probably lived like this all the time. George hung his head.

"I'm sorry, Dean. It's just that she's…well I'm worried," he said, resigned. Dean gave up on the idea of leaving at this point. George kneeled down beside the girl and brushed her hair out of her closed eyes. Dean sat beside him and waited for further instructions.

"Stoatshead hill," George murmured.

"Pardon?" Asked Dean, thoroughly confused. What did that have to do with unconscious Muggles?

"Luna lives on Stoatshead hill. That's the third high hill directly east from here," George said, pointing in the direction of an approaching sunrise, while never looking up from his fallen friend.

"Thanks!" Dean shouted, already sprinting out the door.

He ran swiftly, allowing his long legs to hurry him across the vast fields of the English Countryside. He showed no effort in climbing the first hill, but paused to survey the direction in which he was heading. He was partially dreading what he would find.

During their time at Shell Cottage, Dean felt comforted and happy in Luna Lovegood's company. She had a tender nature and a sense of good cheer about her which had helped to rid Dean of the gruesome images of Ted Tonks death, or Dobby's fallen and bloodied body. Dean gladly took to following her around on her many odd excursions. The distraction she offered had been wonderful.

Things had changed into an area that Dean was not all too familiar with, however, when it came to Luna -- or any other girl in all reality. One night at the cottage, he had awakened from a nightmare, and had surprisingly found that the only way he could find comfort was to peek in at Luna. Watching her chest rise and fall, Dean soon began to feel a longing to touch the white locks of her hair, and to gaze into her protuberant eyes.

Luna's personality wasn't exciting and fiery, as had been the case with Ginny, but was instead gentle and warm. It had come upon him slowly. Dean feared he might be falling for Luna. But in a time of war, a war in which he might likely die, he had decided to suppress the urge. He thought he knew himself, and felt it would surely pass.

When war had come to Hogwarts and he and Seamus had taken up arms beside each other, Dean had worried about Luna. As the walls had shaken their fortified hiding place, he had only been able to grab for her hand and guide her out. As they had walked up the stairs to fight, he had pulled her close to him, under the guise that the passageway had been tight. In reality, he had needed to feel her, smell her, and get a bit of that comfort before facing death.

But Dean Thomas hadn't died. After the war, he had run to his mother and sisters. They had needed him, and he had needed to be home. But that is when the thought of Luna had struck again -- struck in a most painful way.

As Dean had been sitting at the family table, enjoying some of his mother's raspberry crepes and relishing the affection of his family, he had perused the Daily Prophet for news of the war recovery. It had always been his nature to enjoy observing things from a distance, although he had been intended to start rebuilding relationships with his friends very soon. Suddenly, a headline had struck him to his core:

Xenophilius Lovegood Found Dead in Death Eater's Home 

_Xenophilius Lovegood, noted journalist, has been found dead at the home of Augustus Rookwood. Aurors tell us that he has been there for a few weeks. There were many others found dead, but neither Rookwood nor any other Death Eaters could be found. _

_Details and a biography on Xeno can be found on page A6._

As Dean stood on top of that first hill, the newspaper still sticking out of his pocket, he ached for his dear friend. This whole time, Dean had been focused on recovery -- on himself -- and had forgotten about others who might need him. Reading the article about Luna's father had provided the awakening he had required. Now, he needed to find Luna and attempt to soothe her, to help her in any way he could. He owed her that much and more, for she helped him more than anyone could ever understand.

He finally recognized a benefit from his habitual morning jogs and weekend football games as his apt body carried him down one hill and up another, until he was flying down the next hill with ease. He only began to get slightly winded as he reached the third hill. However, Dean Thomas did not allow himself to rest, for he could see the oddest, most wonderful structure gazing down at him from the hillcrest. He raced up Stoatshead Hill in anticipation; anxious to find Luna and be the kind of friend she had been to him.

His heart collapsed, however, the moment he reached the summit. The house was in ruins, with piles of rock and rubble lying over what had once been gardens, and massive holes revealing the insides of the house. The placard on the broken door, which read "Lovegood", spurned Dean into a rage of grief.

"Luna!" he screamed, as he ran into the house, where he began digging through the rubble. He had been digging and shouting for a good ten minutes before he heard a patter of footsteps from the broken walkway at the head of the house. He turned, wand drawn, to see Luna's serene face gazing back at him in bemusement.

"Dean Thomas, what on earth are you doing in this mess?" she asked, her large eyes widening to impossible size.

Dean didn't worry about appearances or think anything over. Instead, he simply rushed over and swept Luna up in a bone-crushing hug. He felt staccato pats upon his back; very characteristic of Luna, but what he didn't expect was her quickened breathing. Dean backed away; afraid he might frighten her off. Merlin only knew what sort of emotional state she might be in.

"I'm so sorry, Luna," he whispered, placing a dark hand on the side of her pale face. She grinned warmly and, unafraid, turned her lips to his palm, where she left a soft kiss.

"What are you apologizing for? You certainly didn't kill my father," she said, very matter of factly.

Dean was so struck by such frankness, even coming from Luna Lovegood, that he found himself unable to answer her right away. But he decided, in the spirit of Luna, herself, to be just as honest in response.

"I wasn't here for you when you needed me. We were friends, but I just disappeared after the war. I should have known about your dad before anyone else. I should have taken care of you!" Dean explained, gently placing a hand on her small shoulder. Dean looked around, and when she didn't answer, something struck him.

"Luna, are you all alone here? Have you been alone this whole time? What about your house?" Dean said, growing frantic as he looked at the extent of the damage. He wished he could pick up his wand, and whatever tools he might need, and begin the rebuilding process. His inability to do so left him feeling rather helpless. Luna appeared unphased, but Dean needed to feel useful.

"Well Neville took me home after the battle. He sort of had a fit about the house, but I told him Daddy would fix it when he returned. So, I sent Neville off to be Neville," Luna said before pausing, almost as if she were trying to regain her composure. "Obviously that was a poor decision, as Daddy never did return," she continued, wrapping her arms around her long, thin frame. Dean reached out to her, but she was already walking down the broken path to the house.

"Mr. Shacklebolt was nice enough to deliver my father to me, and gave him a nice little funeral. I buried him there, next to our gurdyroot garden. It will help him to decompose and reincarnate the best. I do hope he comes back as a snorkack, though it's more likely he'll start small. A sunflower perhaps," Luna said, sighing at the bright yellow flowers that seemed to be some of the few things undamaged in her yard.

"Why didn't you tell anyone? We would have come -- helped you take care of your father -- helped you rebuild!" Dean shouted, causing Luna to turn slowly back to him, away from the sunflower.

"I didn't want to be a bother. Everyone had so much to worry over; they didn't need to fret over me. You needed to be with your family. Neville had to nurse that burn and the Weasleys had just lost Fred. I've handled things on my own before. I'll be fine," Luna finished, but even as she did, her voice quivered.

"No you won't! You need a shoulder to cry on. You need a friend. We're all here for you. We all care," Dean, said, grabbing her hands and holding them to his chest.

"You're probably right. I guess I'm still not used to having company, even in misery," said Luna, drooping her head slightly. Yet, she perked up almost instantly. Turning her head toward the east, she was bathed in a bright orange light. "And now begins another day."

As she looked up at him, Dean got the distinct impression that her eyes were raking over his insides.

"So where have you been staying?" he asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"Oh, well, Daddy cast a large number of charms on my bedroom to protect it after the Death Eaters had started hounding him. I guess they really held true, because I am able to levitate up there. My washroom … and bed … and everything are completely intact!" She sounded very happy indeed, leaving Dean completely entranced with her ability to move seamlessly from mood to mood without even pausing to breathe. Of course, this didn't seem odd to him in the slightest. It was simply Luna. She always just let herself be. Well, almost always. But Dean wasn't going to let her lose that part of herself that had always been so open and free because of this tragedy. He would work things out with her.

Dean Thomas was determined to make things better.

"Well at least you've been able to keep a little part of it," Dean said. His determination to be a good friend was transform under the intensity of her gaze. He found, instead, that all he wanted to do was to grab her and snog her senseless, and it was taking all of his strength to offer her friendly comfort and nothing more.

"Would you like to see my room? I've actually never had a boy in it as far as I can remember," she said, taking his hand and raising them both up with some very impressive nonverbal spell work.

"You know I haven't said yes yet," smirked Dean, gripping her hand more tightly as they soared through her window.

"That's true, but your big brown eyes did all the talking for you," she whispered, sounding almost alluring.

Dean was completely struck by her bedroom. He couldn't even speak, as there was so much to take in. There were stars painted on her walls, with flowering vines twisting in and out of them in shades of blues and yellows. But what caught Dean's attention for the longest amount of time was the mural on her ceiling. Beautiful and realistic paintings of Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Neville were looking down at him lined with an elegant golden chain. Dean whistled audibly at the sight.

"Did you paint these?" he asked in amazement.

"Yes, I did. My mother taught me this really amazing way to mix colors, and let me experiment with shapes and pictures. She always said, 'One day, Luna, your heart will come out through that brush.' I believed her, and after she died, I painted her face over and over again, until finally I found the perfect version of her," Luna said, before walking slowly to one of the deep blue flowers on her wall.

Upon closer examination, he saw that the flower was in fact an outline of a woman's face, shown in profile, and revealing a long, graceful neck of blue petals. Dean was so captivated by Luna's artwork, that he had to run a lengthy finger along the lines of the flower, to try to make sense of Luna's vision. Luna put her finger out too, and started tracing the outline of her mother's face. Their fingers met, and Luna let her finger slide up Dean's arm, before resting on his forearm.

"You are very talented," he whispered, afraid that her touch was like glass, and would break if he shouted.

"I've not been able to capture Daddy yet, probably because I haven't shed any of the tears or felt any of the loss," she said frankly, following the other flowers and stars on her wall.

"Why not, Luna? Don't you know you have to let that stuff come?" Dean asked, taking her hand from his arm and rubbing his thumb over its back.

"I was too afraid to cry alone, Dean. Crying alone is a horribly wretched thing; it leaves you alone with your thoughts, fears, and grief. If there is no one to share it with, it can fester and build up. The colors would get all mixed together before you could paint with them," Luna said, as if her metaphor were common knowledge.

Dean couldn't fight it anymore, and frankly, he was tired of all the fighting he seemed to do. He prided himself in being a soldier, on carrying himself with strength. But right now, none of it mattered. Luna Lovegood captivated him, and he could find no logical reason why. But neither could he find any reason not to. So he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. He felt brave and free at the same time.

"I think I'm prepared to cry now. Will you stay?" Luna said, looking up at him with misty eyes.

"I'll stay forever if you need me to," Dean whispered, placing his hand on the small of her back while guiding her to sit on the bed. The moment their bodies met the blankets, Dean could already hear the sniffles, as her body began to quake. "I'm here. It'll be okay now. Just cry," Dean said, pulling her so her back was against his chest, where he could wrap his arms around her fully, to hopefully make her feel safe there.

Her small hands wrapped around his arms, while she buried her face in the tangles of their limbs. Dean could feel her tears on his skin, but didn't flinch. He promised himself to stay steadfast, and let what needed to flow out of her. Every once in a while, he heard her whisper for her father or mother.

Finally, Luna's cries began to subside and she whispered, "Why did you have to leave me alone?" to the woman memorialized on the wall. Dean's heart could take no more, and with one strong tear falling from his cheek, he whispered back in her ear, "You are not alone."

Very abruptly, and much to Dean's shock, Luna turned to face him, and in doing so, straddled his lap. Her skirt rode up to reveal her legs. Dean did not trust himself to not react, but couldn't just throw her aside, either. Instead, he sat there, holding tightly to her waist and waiting for her to speak.

"I know you draw, Dean. Do you paint as well?" Luna asked. Dean laughed a little to himself, as he realized she was not even aware of how she had placed herself upon him.

"How did you know I like to draw?" Dean asked. He tried to keep that part of him under wraps; not for the sake of some macho image, but more for an escape. He had a place no one could find him. Instead of answering, Luna got up and started rummaging through her bedside drawer.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took this from Shell Cottage. You threw it away, but I loved it too much to leave it," she said, handing him a rolled up piece of parchment. On it was a drawing Dean had done of the sea during a storm, crashing angrily on the cliffs below the cottage.

"You can have it. I have a lot of drawings. I do them whenever I need to let something out," Dean said, running his hands over his drawing to flatten it out and see it better.

"Why were you so angry here?" asked Luna, tilting her head to examine the parchment horizontally. "I am assuming all this rage coming from the sea is really coming from inside you?" Luna questioned, as though the answer were obvious.

"I was just frustrated at all the death and pain. It was too much. I needed to get it out," Dean said, afraid that she would turn away from his clear expression of anger. She didn't, however. Instead, she rolled up the parchment, tied it with a red ribbon, and placed it back in her drawer.

"Why am I not up there on your ceiling?" Dean questioned. He was curious. Had he not had as much of an effect on her as she had on him?

"You belong somewhere else," she answered, and reaching back into her drawer, pulled out a square of canvas framed in driftwood. She handed him her picture.

Dean saw himself smiling back up at him, wearing a white shirt and khaki pants. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned and his pants were rolled up. He appeared to be standing on the beach at Shell Cottage. Dean was struck at how good he looked in this clothing, and did not for a second believe that he looked like that in real life. His dark skin looked smooth, and his body appeared long and impressive. There was no way he could possibly look like that. Dean looked up at Luna in shock, to find her blushing slightly.

"I can't put you on the ceiling because I like to keep you close to me. I like to look at you before I fall asleep. I can't explain it, but I feel better when I see you," she said, trying to sound nonchalant as she normally did, yet she kept glancing up at him furtively.

"It's incredible. You're incredible," Dean murmured. He placed a hand on the side of her face and pulled her toward him. He tried very carefully to kiss her gently, though he was overcome with want, and pulled back quickly.

Luna looked up at him, a light sparkling in her eyes as if she were looking back at the sunrise. She leapt from her seat on the bed, pressing herself firmly against him. She kissed him carefully, running her hands anxiously over his arms, shoulders, and even through his thick curls. She pulled away and smiled at him.

"Well, Dean Thomas, that certainly felt amazing. I think I should like to do that for a little longer, if you don't mind," she said, seating her small frame in his lap and draping her arms around his neck.

"Mind?" Dean said incredulously. "Darling, kiss me all night if you must!" he exclaimed.

Luna covered his face with small kisses before going back to his lips. Dean felt complete joy. Something that had been missing had returned to him. The warm serenity he felt in the presence of Luna Lovegood came back to him three-fold, and he knew this is exactly where he belonged. He could paint a complete story with her, and it would be a magnificent mix of colors.

As the evening wore on, Dean grew braver. He kissed along her neck and received grateful moans in return. That prompted him to slowly move the straps of her shirt over her shoulders so he could kiss the soft, white skin there. His lips feasted on the delicate surface of her until he almost lost control. Luna pulled back, a contemplative look on her face.

Luna got up off of Dean's lap and stood in front of him. She slowly removed her top, then, looking up at him with slight apprehension, she let her skirt fall to the floor. Dean was in complete awe of the canvas before him. She wore blue undergarments, made of a shiny material, which stood in sharp contrast of her pale skin. Dean reached out to run a hand over her abdomen, unable to stop his body from the need to feel her.

"Luna…" Dean whispered, but couldn't find his words. He stumbled over them a few times before finally asking, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. I'm positive I'm in love with you. I really don't need to know anything else. I have never done this before, so forgive me for being ill-informed," she said, looking down at her feet.

"Ill-informed?" Dean asked in amazement. He rose from the bed and walked to where her swaying form was standing. He put a hand under her chin and turned her to face him. "You are incredible. You could stand there all night and I would be the happiest wizard in Britain just to look at you, to talk to you," he croaked, and kissed her passionately. She moaned and pressed herself against him.

Dean lifted his shirt over his head and pulled his jeans and trainers off as well. When he rose again, after kicking his clothes to the side, Luna was gazing at him with open interest. He laughed to himself at the analytical expression on her face, as if he were an unusual chessboard. She moved closer to him, looked deeply into his eyes, and began trailing kisses up and down his chest.

"You are an incredibly handsome man, Dean Thomas. Why you don't have a girlfriend to be doing this right now is behind my comprehension," she exclaimed, running her hands reverently over him.

"Oh but I do," He said, kissing her neck. "You are my girlfriend. That is, of course, if you'll have me," he said, looking up at her expectantly.

"I'm quite sure that's what I'm about to do," she answered, though neither could keep a straight face at the innuendo. Dean lifted her nearly naked form up, and swung her around before laying her gently on the bed, both laughing wildly, as neither had done since they had been children.

"Tell me if I should stop," Dean said, hooking his thumbs under her knickers and pulling them past her ankles. Her legs fell open, and Dean could have swallowed his tongue. He knew this would hurt for her, so he pressed a tentative finger inside of her. She moaned loudly and writhed beneath him.

He inserted two fingers inside of her, stretching her more fully, and pressing a thumb against her clit. He had done this with a muggle girl in his neighborhood, but knew this time it would go further than he'd ever before experienced. He brought Luna quickly to climax, and her wonton cries were like music to his ears. He watched her face as she came, whispering his name while throwing her head back against the mattress. She then looked up at him, beaming.

"You do that almost as well as I do!" she said with amazement, kissing him once again. Dean wasn't even shocked. It was hard to love Luna and manage to be shocked by anything.

While Dean was contemplating what she had just said, she managed to pull off his boxers without his even knowing, and began staring at him with open interest.

"You are a very good size. I suspect it is because you are so tall," she said as she ran a hand down either side of his shaft. Dean grunted in pleasure.

"Luna, love, if you keep doing that…" Dean started, moaning as she gripped him more tightly.

"Ahh yes. I remember some of the girls speaking of that," Luna said, pulling her hand away in disappointment.

Dean sat up and threaded his hands in her long hair. "I'm so in love with you. I can't believe I'm saying it, but it's true," he whispered, kissing her lips softly.

"I want to feel you, Dean," she moaned, touching his throbbing cock again.

Dean didn't need to be told again. He removed her bra, something he had sorely forgotten to do, and laid her gently on her bright yellow blanket. He kissed her breasts, very full and with bright pink nipples. He ran his hands over her glorious body in amazement. Then, when he thought he would explode, he slowly pulled her knees apart and saw that she was indeed ready for him.

He positioned himself at her entrance, gave her one last look, and slowly pressed into her. She moaned with pleasure and pressed back, eager for him to go again. Dean couldn't contain his excitement, and after a few slow, tentative thrusts, he began pumping in and out of her quickly and without much grace. He came hard, calling out her name and kissing her with everything he had. At last, he moved off her and heard her cast a combination of cleansing and healing spell. He turned around quickly, an apology on his lips, but her hands went over his mouth.

"Shhhh. Its nearly mid day, and we should be resting. We have a lot more artwork to add to these walls tonight. And to the rest of the house as it builds up," she said, rolling on her side and pressing herself into him. He wrapped his arms around her abdomen and sighed.

Dean had run to save her, but found that she hadn't needed saving. She had only needed him, as he had needed her…for the rest of his life.


	10. Song for a Friend

**Chapter 9**

Song for a Friend 

_You got all the skill you need,  
Individuality  
You got something  
Call it gumption  
Call it anything you want_

_Because life's too short anyway  
But at least it's better then average  
As long as you got me  
And I got you  
You know we'll got a lot to go around  
I'll be your friend  
Your other brother  
Another love to come and comfort you_

George rushed down Samantha's steps, worried that if he hesitated, he'd be sorely tempted turn back. George knew he had a job to do, but leaving the warmth and safety of Samantha for the cruelty of the real world seemed almost painful. With the fear of reality ripping at his chest, George felt an insurmountable sense of duty that overshadowed his grief. Once the village was out of sight, George Apparated outside of The Burrow.

George wasn't very surprised to find Percy sitting alone, looking stony as he gazed out over the small pond on the edge of the property. George approached with caution; worried he would find the same Percy he had encountered the previous night. However, upon walking nearer to him, George saw only one piece of paper crumpled in Percy's hand. Instead of a wild-eyed fear, Percy was possessed with a steely determination. George sat down on the bench and opted to let his elder brother speak first.

After a few moments of listening to the wind with his one remaining ear, George heard Percy clear his throat as he turned to his brother.

"I know we previously discussed getting everyone together tonight, but I think it needs to happen sooner than we had expected. We need to develop a plan," Percy said, clenching the paper in his hand more firmly.

"That's fine by me, I'm available," George said, trying to remain calm despite the mounting tension. "But why the change of heart? I was under the impression you were planning this for tomorrow."

"I know, but that's before I figured out where Yaxley lives," Percy spoke, barely audible, turning a fierce look and a shade of red at this new prospect.

George had helped Percy sift through all of his intricate maps and notes upon hearing of Penny's situation. He felt useful and strong for the first time since seeing Fred fall. He relished in helping his family, instead of facing pity, and Percy seemed to appreciate the company.

Deciphering Percy's theories, they determined Yaxley lived in Hertfordshire, as it was mentioned by one of Percy's coworkers on more than on occasion. They then cross-referenced it with a report Percy had for screening the recent Deatheater activity by county, and found three locations where Penny could be located. Percy had nearly drowned in firewhisky, crying tears of relief, just at the prospect that Penny might be saved. George had been more than happy to serve as the shoulder to cry on, to be the brother to the prodigal son.

"But how are we going to have time to plan out three ambushes for one night's time if we call everyone over now?" George questioned. HE understood someone needed to think reasonably. Merlin! How did HE get the job?

"I've narrowed it down. I know where Penny is…well where she is if she's not…if she's still…" Percy said slowly, his voice catching in his throat.

"Fuck! My genius brother strikes again! We have to get everyone together now," George leapt up and paced around the bench, "Wait, how'd you figure it out?"

"Well," said Percy. His voice held the superior air it had whenever he had solved a difficult problem, but his knuckles betrayed him by turning white, as his shaking hands gripped his knees. His eyes never left the ground in front of him. "I found the final piece of the puzzle," he said, handing George the small piece of paper. George opened it and it read:

April 30, 1997

The Bough

Alecto Carrow

"Lovely, insightful reading, Perce! What does it have to do with Yaxley?" George asked, fearful Percy had finally gone all of the way around the twist.

"Look at the name! Alecto had mentioned 'Visiting Yaxley at The Boughs for tea and inspection of prisoners'. The only estate called The Boughs on the map of Hertfordshire that corresponds with the activity chart must be it!" Percy said with his brand of retrained intensity.

"Okay, you send a patronus to Bill. I'll floo-call Charlie at the shop. Tell him we'll need to have an emergency family meeting," George said, settling the mission.

"George, I…" Percy started, tears forming in his eyes. George scooted closer to Percy on the bench and patted him on the back. "I can't lose her. She kept me whole! She kept me from losing myself when I was away from all of you. Without her, well, I'd just be the pompous git who abandoned his family when they needed him most! I will never be able to repay the debt I owe you guys, but Penny at least made me feel like I can be loved," he said, placing his head into his shaking hands.

"Percy, you are a Weasley. You came back. You fought bravely. Yes, I wanted to flog you into next week for all you did, but you came back. You apologized. As far as I'm concerned, and everyone else in the family if they know what's good for them, you are my brother and I love you…no matter what. You need us now, and I for one will not back down because you were an arse for a while," George said, feeling himself choking up. He knew he was speaking for Fred too, but the thought that Fred wasn't around to help cut deeply into George. Those thoughts were pressed to the back of his mind, however, as he knew he had to let it go for now. There were more important things. He had to rescue his brother's heart.

Less than an hour later, Bill and Charlie were seated at the kitchen table, glancing suspiciously from Percy to George.

"So George, are you going to tell us what this is all about?" Bill said, looking tired and annoyed.

"Don't look at me! This is Percy's party!" George exclaimed, lifting his hands up in surrender.

"We need Ron and Ginny first. Has anyone seen them? They aren't in their rooms," said Percy, placing a hand on his chin.

"Ickle Ronniekins is playing snuggly-wuggly wif Er-My-Nee," Charlie teased, leaping from his chair. Charlie and Bill began racing to be the first to take the mickey out of Ron. George smirked as he saw Percy follow, trying to contain his excitement.

George didn't really feel up to good-natured ribbing just yet. For one, he was afraid he would cry, thinking of how Fred would have enjoyed it. But what really ate at him was the fear that he had lost interest in things he used to love, like picking on Ron. He wasn't prepared to face that reality just yet. Losing Fred had incapacitated him, if he lost himself he just might die.

George decided to try to find Ginny. He figured she was hiding somewhere and crying. She never cried in the open, because she had to be tough. But George was one of the few people in the world who knew she cried, and was adept at finding her. His first stop was the bathroom under the stairs.

George approached the door slowly and checked for charms. Sure enough, a silencing charm and a locking charm had been placed on the door. George knew he had found Ginny, so he quickly unlocked the door and walked in.

What he saw was unexpected to say the least. At first, he just saw an oversized tub. Moving farther into the room, he saw pillows and to his dismay, a tuft of messy black hair. George knew he'd see Weasley red if he moved farther. Considering the delicate situation, he saw his new-somber self as the one to wake Ginny and sneak her out to her brothers.

George sat carefully on the top of the closed toilet, contemplating his next move. The scene was nearly overwhelming to him. He had lost so much, and through all of that, he had failed to remember that his baby sister was no baby. There she was, sleeping peacefully, wrapped in a quilt and in Harry's arms. She was breathing softly and slowly, hypnotizing George with her peace. He tried to avoid the possibility that she was starkers as he lightly knocked on the side of the tub.

"Wassat?" Mumbled Harry, stirring and reaching for his wand from under a garish purple pillow. As he put on his glasses and focused on George, Harry began to sport a shocked and frightened look. George thought it would be exquisite to make Harry squirm, but he was too tired to force his humor on others right now.

"I'm uh…I didn't…we just…" Harry stammered, his pale skin becoming whiter by the second.

"Bloody hell, George! Don't you knock?" Ginny shrieked, pulling the blankets high and sitting up.

"I didn't expect…well," George shouted, getting defensive and gesturing wildly between her and Harry. Ginny crossed her arms and huffed.

"What do you want, anyway?" She murmured, starting to relent due to her delicate situation.

"Family meeting in the living room," George said, walking out and shutting the door behind him.

Entering into the living room, he saw Bill, Charlie, and Percy standing completely still and quiet in front of Ron and Hermione's sleeping forms. Hermione was seated in Ron's lap, her head resting on his shoulder. Ron's head was back, hanging awkwardly off the edge of the sofa, emitting loud, gurgling snores. Charlie had a Muggle blow horn; Bill held a box of Whizbang Poppers, while Percy had the patented Weasley Decoy Detonators. Ron and Hermione were about to have a very rude awakening.

George braced himself for the loud noise just before it came. There was an explosion of sound and smoke filled George's nose. Through it all, he heard Hermione shriek. Very suddenly after that, he heard Ron shout, "Don't hurt her!" followed by a very sickening crash. Percy cast a siphoning charm to clear the room of smoke.

The reaction to the unconventional wake-up call was far from the humorous shock everyone expected. Ron stood in front of Hermione; his arms spread wide, facing Bill and Percy's panicked faces. Charlie lay in a heap in front of the fireplace, obviously stunned clear across the room. George heard Ginny gasp and leave his side as Harry followed.

Hermione had risen shakily to her feet, still behind Ron, who was looking thoroughly panicked and confused.

"Bloody hell! I thought…I thought you were…"Ron said, choking on his words as he looked at Charlie.

"It's okay, Ron. Charlie wasn't hurt. _Ennervate_," said Ginny, reviving Charlie. He looked ready to shout, but the angry look on Ginny's face silenced him immediately.

Bill turned back to Ron and Hermione, mouth agape. Ron's wand was still drawn, his arm shaking, while Hermione's fists were clenched. Angry tears were falling from her eyes. If looks could kill, Bill would be dead and buried.

Ginny helped Charlie to his feet, a look of disgust on her face as Harry put a steady hand on Ron's arm and lowered it from threatening his brothers. Bill went to speak, but Hermione raised her hand, ready to slap him. Ginny was quicker, grabbing Her wrist as Bill flinched. Hermione turned to Ron and wrapped her arms around him, settling him back on the sofa. She was still shaking slightly, obviously just as frightened and on edge as Ron. Harry moved to the center of the lost crowd.

"You, Bill, of all people should have understood what this stunt would do to Ron. Do you remember that night we turned up on your lawn?" Harry said, running a frustrated hand through his hair and sitting next to Ron. Bill nodded slightly, looking thoroughly ashamed. He turned to the confused faces of Charlie and Percy and whispered, "I'll explain later."

Then, Bill walked over to Ron, held out his hand, and said, "Forgive me?"

Ron wordlessly and heartily shook his hand, nodding in descent.

George could scarcely wrap his head around the situation. Through it all, all the horrifying effects of the war, George had thought Ron's good nature and humor would have remained a constant. He took for granted Ron's laugh and unapologetic smirk. But here stood his baby brother, a man, forever changed by fear. But the way Ron looked at Hermione as she wrapped herself back up in him, assured George that Ron wasn't completely gone.

George longed for some semblance of normality, some taste of the warm and familiar. He longed to see his mother free of tears. He would give anything to hear a full-bodied chuckle from his father, instead of the weak and far off laugh. George wanted to hear his baby sister and brother laughing playfully in the back yard as they chased the gnomes. He wanted the sharp sparkle back in Percy's eyes. George wanted to feel Fred next to him.

George wanted home.

It was this last thought of home that caused George to rise, breaking the tension. He realized he could never bring home back to the way it had been, but he could make life tolerable one sibling at a time.

"Excuse me, lovely family. I would hate to interrupt this heart-warming scene, but we did call a family meeting here. It's something we should do in private, something between Weasleys," George said, looking nervously at Percy. He had decided in that moment that his family needed to do this together. They needed to heal and learn to lean on each other. George was relieved when Harry and Hermione looked suspicious, but opted to take a stroll around the yard.

"So what is the emergency, Saint George?" Charlie said, still gingerly rubbing his head.

"Actually, I think Percy should take over," George said, glancing at Percy, who appeared absurdly nonchalant, picking lint from his robes. He faced his family nervously, and cleared his throat.

"I don't really have much time for details, but I need your help," Percy said, eyes shifting nervously over each sibling.

"Two years ago, after I left here on Christmas, I got inebriated…_really_ inebriated." Percy stared, a rare smirk on his face.

"You're an alcoholic? I'm not surprised," said Ron, laughing. "It's always the quiet ones."

Percy let out a high-pitched, nervous chuckle. "No, I'm not an alcoholic, but I did fall in love with Penelope Clearwater that night."

No one laughed. No one joked. Even Ron and Ginny looked sober and slightly shocked. The silence lingered painfully, as Percy appeared to be trying to find his words.

"Yes, well, things progressed as they often do, and Penny soon moved into my flat in Hogesmeade," Percy continued, still not making eye contact.

"No way! You took back up with that Clearwater bird? She was a fit one, she was," Charlie blurted, in obvious disbelief that Percy had managed to snag her. All Percy could do was meet his eyes and nod.

"Isn't Penelope a Muggleborn, Perce?" Ginny asked, neither shocked nor smiling, but looking grave. Percy lifted his head and met Ginny's eyes sadly. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

"Wait a minute. How did she not manage to get caught? Did she just lie when she registered?" Bill asked, starting to catch on as well.

"She didn't register. She was working for Hogwarts before…well…" Percy started, his lip quivering. "She was a Muggleborn student liaison," Percy finished, meeting George's eyes, fear and sadness gripping him.

"Bloody Christ! What did she do?" Charlie said, now invested in the tale.

"When the Muggleborns started getting rounded up, we hid her in my flat. She stayed in that little place for months, just waiting for it all to be over. I stayed at the Ministry so as to not raise suspicions, on me, her, and you guys," Percy said, heaving a great sigh so he could finish. "When Deatheaters took over the school, they found Minerva's staff list and tracked Penny down," Percy barely even spoke the last words. Ginny was on her feet, shaking her head, as her lips pursed in righteous anger.

"They took her!" Percy shouted, finally breaking down completely. George decided to take over the tale, as Percy walked into Ginny's open arms, allowing her to stroke his back gently. Bill and Charlie looked lost, but focused their attention back on George.

"She was taken during February, and Percy has been going back to work every day, gathering clues as to where she might be. We think we've found it out," George said, knowing Bill and Charlie would catch on quickly.

"Well let's go. Let's get her back!" shouted Charlie, leaping up.

"It's not that simple. She was imprisoned with some other Muggleborns and halfbloods at the Deatheater Yaxley's house. We've just now figured out where that is," George started, moving into the safety of strategy mode. "We were thinking of infiltrating and getting them out sometime in early morning, when the house is probably empty…especially now that Voldemort is gone," George said. Bill and Charlie nodded resolutely.

"Percy?" Ginny said, pulling back to meet Percy's eyes. "Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you tell us?" Ginny said, sorrow etched on her face. Percy just shook his head and let out a choked sob.

"I'm going to go and gather some things we may need from the shop. Let's meet back here around midnight. Someone should really try to get some blueprints for his estate," Charlie said, gathering his shoes and jacket.

"Harry can talk to Minister Shackelbolt. I'm sure he can get some sway from the Auror department without involving anyone unnecessary. I mean, everyone owes Harry don't they?" Ginny finished with a wry smirk.

"Way to use your feminine charms, dear sister," George said, feeling the mood lighten in the room.

"I'm going to go and get my broom and talk to Fleur real quick. She's sure to have some useful charms for me. My wife is clever, that's for sure," Bill said, apparating on the spot.

"Ginny, you can probably use Fred's broom, it's faster," George said softly.

"No! She shouldn't be going!" Ron said, speaking for the first time since Percy started talking.

"Why not?" Ginny shouted. "You know I can hold my own, and lord only knows, if we need someone small and quick, that certainly won't be you!" she continued, trying to make herself appear taller as she met Ron's eyes.

"Ron, please?" Percy said, putting a hand on his shoulders.

"All's fair in love and war…" Ron started, communicating his assent in a cryptic, yet understanding way, as Hermione came carefully back into the living room.

Percy went to gather some of Penny's clothes from his flat, just in case she happened to be cold. George knew he was simply trying to keep up hope.

Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione were soon walking quietly back up to Ron's room for a game of chess and some rest. George was soon left alone with his thoughts. Those thoughts turned into dreams of Samantha as he drifted away on the sofa, which still held a hint of her scent on the pillows.

At midnight, the Weasleys would join forces for one of their own.


	11. Plane

**AN:// I turned anonymous reviews on, so if you have been reading this but can't review...DO IT NOW! **

Chapter 10

**_Plane_**

_Taste these teeth please__  
__And undress me from these sweaters better hurry__  
__Cause I'm keeping upward bound now__  
__Oh maybe I'll build my house in your cloud__  
__Here I'm tumbling for you__  
__Stumbling through the work that I have to do__  
__Don't mean to harm you_

Hermione gazed out of Ginny's bedroom window and across the hilly countryside before her. The conversation of what was to occur that night had finally died down and she, Ron, Harry, and Ginny were lounging across the beds in companionable silence. Hermione noted the sun was about to go down, and saw that the clock read 7:30 pm. Ron and Ginny were going on their mission in less than 5 hours, and considering the night Ginny had experienced, the uncomfortable sleep Ron had managed, and the fact that all of them were stifling yawns, Hermione suggested they try to get some rest.

"Oh, that's brilliant! I'm bloody knackered!" Ginny said, rising and stretching her hands high in the air. Harry openly gazed at her, a look of reverence in his eyes, and a smirk on his face. Hermione had to suppress a giggle as she toyed with the idea that Harry would start drooling at any second. As if she could feel him staring, Ginny turned back toward Harry.

"Fancy a kip outside?" She asked, tousling his hair. Harry nodded immediately and they were out of the door before Ron could offer a brotherly protest.

Charlie was at the shop getting supplies. Percy had gone to his flat to get some things for Penelope. Bill was asking Fleur about some "charms". Harry and Ginny were outside, doing something Hermione didn't want to mention anywhere near Ron. And Molly and Arthur had taken Teddy to Andromeda Tonks' to help get the two settled in better. Suddenly, Ron and Hermione were very much alone, and very much on a bed. The prospect excited Hermione. The tension in the room was weighing her down. She had no idea how long they had sat there before Ron cleared his throat.

"I think I'm going to try to steal a few hours too," Ron said, glancing at her furtively.

"Yes I know, I'm quite tired myself," Hermione answered. It was a bald face lie, however. Hermione was wide-awake and alert, having spent the previous evening nestled in Ron's arms. Now, all she could think of was those arms wrapping reassuringly around her. She longed to be close to him in every way possible. She had waited 3 years for him to love her back, dancing around their feeling was out of the question at this point.

"Oh, yeah. You should rest," Ron said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and kissing her chastely on the lips. He got up and left before Hermione could so anything. 'So much for not dancing around,' she thought wryly.

Hermione crawled under her covers, willing herself to sleep as she gazed at the ceiling, knowing Ron slept directly above her. She knew he had feelings for her, but questions still gnawed at her in the dusky glow. She wondered if he wanted to be with her, and she worried they were too damaged to ever find a way out to the other side.

She ran her hands over her abdomen slowly while visions of Ron running his large hand over her invaded her head. Hermione had a quick flash of shame upon thinking about what she wanted to do. Decorum screamed at her to remind her she was a guest in the Weasley's house.

However, she often did this when she couldn't sleep, and sleep was very important to good health. Hermione's logical mind, and her desire for Ron won over, and she slowly undid her jeans and reached a tentative hand between her legs.

Her fingers moved in slow circular motions as she remembered the feeling of Ron's tongue moving inside of her mouth and how sweetly he tasted. She inadvertently thrust her hips into the air as she remembered his hardness pressed against her when they kissed on the sofa. She let out an involuntary whimper and bit her lip to force herself quiet.

Her legs fell open as her muscles began to turn to jelly. She moved her fingers quickly, imagining Ron's hands at her center, bringing her release. Suddenly, it became too much and she could almost hear him moaning with her. Her toes and fingers tightened, her muscles arched and a wave of pleasure roared through her. She whispered his name and immediately fell into darkness and sleep.

Pain ripped through Hermione like she had never felt before. Her voice grew hoarse from screaming, begging for mercy. That cruel woman just kept cursing her, over and over again. Hermione was happy to die so that the pain would end. She could feel herself slipping farther back into her mind, trying to escape the pain.

A voice inside her head reminded her why she couldn't give up. They had something to do and she had to lie to save them. Hermione fought with the pain to make the voice in her head grow louder, until she realized it wasn't in her head at all. It was Ron screaming for her. She knew she had to do it for him, for Harry, even if she died trying. As she began to speak, she felt her shoulders shake back and forth.

Hermione's eyes shot open and she realized she was not on the floor of Malfoy Manor, but in Ginny's room at The Burrow. A very worried and shirtless Ron was leaning over her, his hands still on her shoulders, bare except for the thin straps of her top crossing over them. Hermione shivered at the lingering fear that accompanied the memory of her worst experience.

She sat up looking into Ron's concerned eyes, while he pulled her against the warm skin of his chest, and his large hands moved around her back. Hermione cried in small, wracking sobs against his chest.

She hadn't spoken to him, or anyone about what she had gone through, but now it was pouring out of her as she finally confided in Ron. It was an overwhelming comfort to be in his arms, as even the memory of her worst pain couldn't survive with the rhythmic beating of Ron's heart against her ear.

She wanted it all to melt away, and for the world to be comprised of only them for a little while.

* * *

Ron Weasley reluctantly left Hermione in Ginny's room. If he hadn't left, he would have fallen into her soft eyes and smooth skin, and never turned back. Ron was worried he would frighten her off. He had just gotten his head out of his ass, and he was determined to do whatever he could to be an excellent boyfriend … or whatever he was. 

Ron walked back into the living room, knowing full well he'd never be able to fall asleep. A combination of nerves and the ever-present want for Hermione was keeping him very anxious. He summoned his Cleansweep and a broom kit and decided to prepare for the excursion ahead. He had just started pruning the tail end of his broom when he heard a whimper coming from Ginny's room. Worried for Hermione, Ron rushed up the stairs and cracked the door open, trying to avoid startling her.

What he saw made his breathing stop and nearly robbed him of his sense of balance. He nearly fell from the shock.

The blankets were crumpled on the floor and Hermione's' shirt had been lifted, exposing her smooth stomach. Ron's eyes were glued to Hermione's hand, which was buried in her knickers, moving rapidly as she moaned and whimpered. Eventually she bit her lip in the same way she always did when concentrating.

Ron was certain he would go mad at any second if he kept watching her. His thin pajamas were straining tightly around the hardest erection he had ever felt. He had three choices: Rush into the room and slam 3 years of sexual tension into her (in what would likely take no more than two minutes), try to go back to polishing his broom, or go upstairs and release his own building explosion before he collapsed.

Option number three was the only real choice in the matter.

Ron raced to his room, and closed and locked his door as quickly as possible. He pressed his back against the scrubbed wood of the door in an attempt to steady himself. However, visions of Hermione's face, etched with pleasure, would not leave his mind. Thoughts of her open thighs, thrusting hips, and of her knees, pointing to the ceiling, kept coursing through him. Ron wanted more than anything to give himself to her … to be the one responsible for the pleasure she was feeling.

Without even making it to a more comfortable spot, Ron's hands had started, one moving his pants down, the other gripping his cock firmly. It took every ounce of strength Ron had in him not to cry out for her when he heard her moans coming from right below him.

He lowered himself to the floor to hear her better, and when she called his name in climax, he let go with longing, wanting to be inside of her more than breathing. His entire body shook from the force of his climax, and he had to bite his lip very hard to keep from crying out. His cock seemed to pulsate endlessly, and when it was over, a wash of calm and contentment washed over him. He moved stiffly over towards his bed and fell into a sleep filled with visions of her.

Ron woke suddenly to the sound of pain-filled cries coming from below him, and this time it seemed more fearful than happy. Ron leapt to his feet and apparated directly to Hermione's bedside.

She was curled up in a ball, crying, pleading with an unseen force to stop. Ron didn't have to think twice about what she was reliving. He gently shook her, hoping she would wake, but she continued to let out small cries of pain. This time, Ron was right there and he could end it simply. He didn't have to shout for her. He rolled her onto her back and shook her vigorously.

Her eyes shot open and she looked directly into his. Slowly, her eyes eased into recognition. She sat up but didn't move or speak for quite some time. Before Ron could ask her if she was okay, a wracking sob escaped her lips.

Ron did not once consider her scantily clad body or his lack of a shirt as he pulled her completely against him. He wanted to hide her from everything, every bit of memory and pain. Every time she cried, it tore Ron up because he knew what she had gone through, what she had done for their cause. He desperately wished he could take even so much as an ounce of that agony away from her. Ron rested his chin on top of her rich brown curls while running his hands up and down her back. He let her tears run down his chest and waited for her to recovery. He could live forever with her in his arms, in any capacity.

Hermione leaned back and grabbed a tissue from her nightstand, laughing awkwardly.

"I'm such a mess…oh for goodness sake!" She stared, wiping her tears from Ron's front.

Ron stopped her shaking hands by wrapping his fingers softly around her wrists, rubbing his thumbs across the smooth underside of her arms. She looked up at him, words getting stuck in her throat.

"Oh 'Mione! You don't have to he brave around me all of the time. I know you're strong. But what happened to you…" The words of comfort seemed empty, not enough. So Ron stopped in mid-sentence at the lost look in her eyes.

"It hurt so much! I wanted to die. I was giving up," she cried, her wrists shaking in his hands.

"But you didn't. You made it. You didn't give up and you kept us going," Ron said, shocked that she was doubting herself so much, and very fearful of how close she had come to willing her own death.

"When I thought it was too much, before everything went dark, I heard you. I just focused on you yelling my name until she stopped," she said, running her hands over Ron's bare arms, and making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"Hermione," he whispered, and kissed her softly on the lips. He had to choke back a gasp as she brought her hands to his shoulders and pulled herself fully into his lap. Now, only the thin material of his pajamas separated his erection from her center, and he could feel her warmth through her jeans. Ron was slightly embarrassed that she could obviously feel his hardness, but all of that floated out of his head as Hermione's tongue entered his mouth, taking him into blissful oblivion.

Ron could hardly comprehend what was happening, but he was thrilled to empty his mind and allow it to be filled with Hermione. She felt amazing. Her small frame was pressed against him, with her knees planted on either side of his hips. Ron threaded his fingers in her mess of hair, reveling in something he's wanted to do since third year. He couldn't suppress a grin at this thought.

Hermione pulled back and looked at him quizzically, returning his grin with a warm one of her own.

"Oh Ron! It's incredible to see you smiling again, but what is so darn funny?" Hermione asked, leaning back on his legs and putting her hands on her hips, a smile still beaming at him.

"Well, first, the fact that you still can't even bring yourself to swear, even in such an utterly improper situation. But well…" Ron started, but couldn't help but kiss her swollen lips again before he finished his sentence. He threaded his hand more firmly into her mop of hair, relishing the softness that enveloped his hand.

"I've just wanted to do this so damned much," he said, flashing a shy smile as his ears began to heat up.

"What? Snog me senseless?" She asked, laughing.

"Well that too," Ron murmured shyly. "But I've always wanted to touch your hair. In History of Magic, when you sat in front of me, I would just stare at it. I wanted to play with those curls. Your hair is just so wild…" Ron said, losing his words in the fear that he sounded ridiculous.

Hermione tilted her head back and let out a hearty laugh. Ron felt like a fool for telling her that tidbit of his fascination for her.

"I guess we have a lot in common then," Hermione said, suddenly glancing around the room nervously.

"What do you mean?" Ron said, unsure of where this surprisingly odd conversation was taking them.

"Do you remember in Professor Slughorn's class, when he had the cauldron of amortentia?" she asked, a flush coming to her cheeks.

"Oh yeah! I loved that stuff! Which I guess was the point," Ron exclaimed, remembering how good it felt to smell that sweet aroma.

"Well, I smelled grass, and new parchment…" Hermione started, stumbling over her words.

"I remember that," Ron said, still feeling completely clueless.

"The third thing was your hair," she said quickly, turning so red she could have had a sunburn.

Ron was shocked, and was seriously perplexed as to why his hair would smell so good. Then, it dawned on him what smelling something in the amortentia meant, and Ron's heart fluttered. It was the first time it hit him that she felt the same. The joy was overwhelming. Ron felt a smile grace his face as if he were a small child on Christmas morning.

Ron let out a chuckle and, at Hermione's indignant glare, he flung her back on the bed and pinned her down. He proceeded to shake his hair, still long from their yearlong excursion, over her face and neck. Hermione laughed wildly in response, obviously very ticklish. She struggled between laughs.

"What? I thought you loooovvvved my hair. Why are you fighting the ginger?" Ron shouted, still dangling his locks over her face.

"Please!" she screamed, and Ron relented, slightly dizzy and completely breathless. His breathing only quickened as he saw her chest rise and fall rapidly, her dark eyes turning intensely into his.

He kissed her hard, pressing his tongue to her lips. She let out an exquisite moan and opened her mouth to him.

After a few moments of glorious snogging, Ron's hand brushed soft skin on her stomach where her shirt had ridden up. Her skin was so smooth that Ron wanted to cover her entire body with his hands. He tentatively moved them up over her ribs until they landed on top of a mound of lacy fabric. Hermione's back arched and Ron was encouraged that he wasn't doing anything wrong. He continued running his hands all over her skin, his cock becoming difficult to avoid.

Suddenly, Hermione sat up and pushed his shoulders back. Ron felt resigned that this signified the end of their snoogging, but was happy nonetheless to be with her. He was therefore shocked when she lifted her top over her head to reveal her smooth caramel skin, adorned with a simple black bra.

She looked like nothing he'd ever seen before, yet more than he had even dared to dream. He wanted to tell her she was fucking amazing. He wanted to scream how much he had always loved her. He wanted to tell her it wasn't just tonight…that it had been years since he had lost his heart to her.

But his words were gone. All Ron could do was whisper her name and cup her face in his hands, kissing her with the intensity of every word he couldn't say. He laid her back on the bed and kissed down her neck, earning some very grateful moans. He let his lips trail over her shoulders and down to her breasts.

Ron was so in awe of her, he didn't even notice her charm away her bra until he was face to face with her naked breasts. He didn't hesitate to kiss her perfect, round nipples, eliciting another groan from her. He lavished her with his tongue, marveling at how she tasted better than the sweetest chocolate frogs. All Ron wanted to do was take off her jeans and touch the source of that sweet warmth currently pressing against his leg. He knew he needed to exercise control, so as not to scare her away by moving too fast.

Ron rolled off her and lay back, grabbing her hand and gazing at the ceiling. He needed to catch his breath. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly before pressing it close to his heart.

* * *

Hermione could scarcely believe she was lying topless next to Ron, her hand planted firmly on his beating heart. At first, she was disconcerted that he had pulled away from her, but she came to realize he was as overwhelmed as she was, if not more so, judging by the quick thumping of his heart. Not to mention the massive erection she tried not to get caught staring at. 

Hermione leaned up on her elbow to look at him. She wanted to look into his eyes, as she could always glean what he was feeling simply by focusing on those deep blues. She saw happiness like she hadn't seen since Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup. He was staring up at her, unashamed to be caught looking.

"What did you smell in amortentia?" she asked, the question pouring out of her without thought.

"Chocolate frogs, Mum's mince pies, and lemon sugar quills," he said, grinning, but with his cheeks burning bright red.

Hermione felt a wave of disappointment that he didn't feel deeply enough for her and only smelled food. Ron's chuckle drew her back to him, however. He sat up and pressed his forehead to hers.

"For being so irritatingly clever, you're sure taking a long time finding the point," Ron said, smirking mischievously. Hermione was even more disconcerted that he seemed to be making an inadvertent admission that he didn't love her as she loved him. She choked back a cry and put on a stiff, hard look. She stood to face him, ready to rail into him for being so heartless at such a tender time.

The look in Ron's eyes completely floored her. They were penetrating and intense, taking her in like she was some magnificent treasure. She was so caught up, that her anger and hurt floated away, and he began to speak again. His voice reached her in a whisper.

"When have you ever seen me eating a lemon sugar quill, or any sugar quill for that matter?" He asked, running his hand along the side of her face and down to her bare back, leaning in to kiss her neck. "You have smelled like those ever since our first trip into Hogesmeade," he said, pulling her close into him, his erection pressing into her waist. "Every day, that sweet smell would swim by me, and I wanted to grab you and snog you like crazy," Ron said, slowly unzipping her jeans.

Hermione was drowning in want for Ron. He did truly feel strongly for her. And now he was undressing her, and she was melting into him. As she stood in front of him with only her knickers on, a wave of love like she never felt washed over her. He was there, gazing at her reverently and with complete sincerity, and she had finally felt the love and safety she had been longing for. Ron Weasley was brave and loyal. He always came through for her, and protected her whenever he could. Now he was standing before her, completely real and earnest, and Hermione realized she was looking at the best side of him. Her side.

She lunged forward, propelled by something deep within her, and kissed him hard, pressing her lips firmly to his. She felt his hands circle around her back, and a chill ran down her spine. She needed for him to be out of his bottoms, and she intended to do just that. With a wave of her hand, Ron was standing naked before her, looking shocked and impressed.

"I've been practicing some wandless magic, it usually works when I'm feeling very emotionally receptive," she bragged, smiling at his naked form. His pale skin was dusted with freckles, and tufts of red hair decorated his chest and groin. He was very tall and thin, but his long arms and legs were adorned with a good helping of powerful muscles. She ran her hands over his chest, and he groaned while covering her hands with his. He kissed her again, and she took the chance to reach down and touch his cock.

He moaned her name, and she felt his hardness twitch in her hand. He was very long and quite thick. She was a little concerned about the mechanics, as they were heading into territory she had never previously explored. Ron lifted her and carried her back to the bed, placing her gently in the pile of covers, and laying beside her.

"Are you sure, love? I don't know if I can hold back any longer," he said, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You were holding back?" she asked, scarcely able to imagine what he would be like completely out of control. However, it was an idea she wanted badly to investigate.

"You have no idea!" he whispered, running his hands to her center and slipping them under the band of her knickers. The contact of his fingers to her warm folds sent a wave of electricity over her and she moaned loudly and deeply. Ron's self-satisfied smirk only made her want more. As he slipped a tentative finger inside of her, she was overcome with desire.

"Oh Hermione. You feel amazing. I've wanted you for so long. Tell me what I can do," he whispered into her neck, as his fingers moved inside of her. She knew what he meant and was glad to direct him. She took his hand and flattened it over the hub of nerves just above where he had been, directing his fingertips in a circular motion. He quickly caught on, and soon she was drawing close to an orgasm. Ron took surprising initiative and pressed two fingers into her as his thumb continued to massage her clit. She came almost instantly, repeating his name like a perfect spell; it's execution causing a burst of magic behind her eyes.

Ron kissed her cheek, looking shocked and satisfied at the same time. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. In fact, you're exquisite," he said, gently rubbing his hand up and down her front, still heavy with her scent. She needed more, and she knew he was too much of a gentleman, and frankly too scared, to do it himself. So, Hermione decided to take charge.

She stood before him, shaking inwardly, but attempting to look as confident as she could as she slipped her knickers off. It was the final step, and Ron stood up to meet her, whispering her name as he kissed her softly. He ran his hands all over her and she moaned and how wonderful it felt to be wanted so intimately. She slowly moved him back to the bed.

He sat down, looking completely gobsmacked, as she straddled him.

"Oh Hermione. I don't want to hurt you. I know this will hurt," he said, at the same time thrusting upward involuntarily. The feeling of his cock pressing wantonly against her center made her desperate for more.

"I need you Ron. I want to do this with you. Only you. Always you," She whispered.

Hermione took a deep breath and lowered herself onto him. She felt resistance as he stretched into her, but an intense feeling of satisfaction was paired with it. Ron was gripping her waist; his eyes clenched shut, whimpering softly. She could tell he was holding back.

Hermione pushed onto him harder, and felt something break deep within her. She experienced a twinge of pain and gasped slightly, digging her nails into Ron's back and burying her face in his neck.

"Oh 'Mione, I…" Ron chocked between gasps. Hermione could feel his shoulders tensing.

"Please Ron, just move. I need you to move with me," she whispered, her face still buried in his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her back and thrust up into her as Hermione braced for more pain.

But the pain never came. Instead, she was filled with an amazing feeling of pleasure as he thrust into her, moaning near her ear. When she began moving in time with him again, he groaned and kissed her sloppily, but with great passion.

"Hermione, I'm close," he whispered. "I can't hold on much longer."

"Don't. Just let go, Ron. It'll be okay. Please," she moaned breathlessly, still burying her hips into his, feeling overwhelmingly full.

"Fuck! Hermione!" Ron shouted, his lips pressed against her shoulder as he thrust erratically and let out a keening yell for her. She felt all of his muscles tense as he poured into her, crying out with overwhelming intensity that it caused Hermione to drown in his ecstasy as well as her own. When he slowed, he pulled back to meet Hermione's eyes.

"I only ever want you. Forever. I'm yours, love," he whispered, kissing her softly in every open spot of her face and neck.

"I've been yours for years now," Hermione said as Ron lay down with her beside him. She moved her head to his chest and let his heartbeat lull her into a sleep with no nightmares. Darkness couldn't invade something as wonderful as this.


	12. No Stopping Us

**Chapter 11: No Stopping Us**

_Down to the other side, _

Ginny Weasley kissed Harry on the cheek and sent him off to Minister Shackelbolt. His job was to retrieve information about the area in which Penelope Clearwater was being held. Ginny smiled slightly to herself at Harry's willingness to help despite not being directly involved. This was her mission and he was happy to kick back and let someone else take control. She was glad Harry understood, and even happier that the burden that used to lay heavy in Harry's eyes was quickly fading.

As the sun began to set on another day, Ginny decided to go to the broom shed and examine Fred's Firebolt. She was excited to reap the benefits of his shop money, but pangs of guilt kept flashing through her. It felt morbid, as Fred was barely buried and she was already using his things. As much as it pained her to think of it, Fred deserved more respect than that, the dead always did.

Ginny resolved to use her own broom, or borrow Harry's, but something caught her eye. Flashes of blue, the same shade as Fred's eyes, glowed in the corning where his broom was stored. Ginny moved in to investigate the odd blue light, but it had vanished. She thought perhaps it was just a reflection of the sun through the dingy glass of the shed.

Ginny went to open the rickety old door, but a gust of wind caused it to slam shut. She jumped, startled, and fell in to the stack of brooms against the wall. Ginny stood and brushed herself off. She began to pick up the fallen brooms when her fingers wrapped around the handle of Fred's, and his voice echoed through the shed.

"Don't touch my broom if you know what's good for you!" the disembodied voice exclaimed.

At first, the sound of her lost brother's voice frightened Ginny. However, the fear soon subsided and was replaced with a nostalgic smile as she marveled at Fred's cheek. Ginny gazed up at the ceiling, smirked at her invisible challenger, grabbed the broom, and ran as fast as she could toward their makeshift quidditch pitch. She was laughing as if she was a small child and Fred had been chasing her around the outskirts of the yard.

Ginny took advantage of her running start by mounting the broom and kicking off quickly from the ground. She felt inexplicably connected to Fred as she soared higher, that is, until the broom started vibrating.

Ginny would have held a very rude gesture up toward the sky, but she was too busy holding on to the Firebolt for dear life. But just as quickly as it had begun, the vibrating ceased. Ginny began to feel something warm and soft engulf her behind and, knowing Fred, she feared the worse.

Suddenly, a soft high-backed chair manifested itself underneath Ginny. She kicked her legs up into the speeding wind and laughed heartily. By some clever charm work, Fred had managed to eliminate the awkward discomfort that boys often experienced when flying long distances out. It felt like Fred was flying right there with Ginny as she leaned her back against the chair and cleared her eyes to let the wind whip across her face.

Ginny's fingers grazed a cool piece of metal on the arm of her flying chair. She squinted her eyes through the cool wind and saw a golden button shaped like a 'W'. Ginny took a deep breath and pressed it. Bracing herself by gripping the handle, Ginny prepared for fireworks to start shooting out the rear or dungbombs to fall on her. However, all that happened was that the comfortable seat disappeared. Ginny laughed at the cleverness of her brother as she descended back to the ground softly.

Ginny steadied her footing and blinked into the setting sun. For the first time in weeks, Ginny had actually laughed, and as with much of her mood-salvaging laughter, Fred was the cause. Holding the smooth handle of the quirky broom, Ginny truly felt Fred was there, that pieces of him would always be with her. Tears fell again, slowly moving down Ginny's cheek, but this time there were no wracking sobs or any soul-crushing grief. She cried with the pain of loss, but also with the joy of memory. It was in this moment she knew Fred wouldn't tolerate her grief; it was a waste of great imagination. Tonight, she would stand by her brothers and re-ignite that spark in a Weasley's eye, one Fred would have never let die.

* * *

Ginny walked inside the Burrow both content from her flight and focused on the upcoming task. She noticed George sleeping on the sofa. 

He was lying on his side, and his shaggy hair had fallen away from his face. A severe scar ran the side of his head, where his ear should have been. Ginny cringed inwardly at his pain, and not just from his ear. He seemed so gentle and harmless, lying there, which was far from how George usually was. Coming to terms with Fred's death was one thing, but what about what Fred left behind?

She sat carefully on the ridge of the sofa and shook George awake. Harry was due to return at any second, and they needed to regroup.

"Uggghhhh. Not bloody yet!" George groaned, turning over to try to sleep again.

"Come on, you tosser! We're going to meet up soon!" Ginny exclaimed, smiling and shaking him more vigorously. Just then, Harry popped into the living room and George reluctantly sat up.

"Well, Kingsley gave us a good map, and we've got an exact location of the house, but we can't get blueprints," Harry said, producing a long scroll which contained the area map.

"Well this is okay. We've got Bill, and he can break into anything," said George, running his finger along the lines of the map as it hung, suspended in mid air.

"Except that ruddy thick skull of yours, little brother," said Bill, appearing in the doorway and knocking George on the head. "So where's everyone else?"

"Percy hasn't come back from his flat yet. If he doesn't come back soon, I may go and check on him," Ginny said. She was worried Percy would lose hope and give up.

"Never fear, I've brought the goods!" shouted Charlie from the kitchen door. He poured various products from Weasley Wizarding Wheezes out onto the rug. Ginny made a point to grab some whizbangs, decoy detonators, and blastpods that could break open even the strongest of magically sealed of doors and walls.

As everyone gathered up various supplies, Percy sidled quietly into the living room, carrying a stylish piece of leather luggage that must have belonged to Penny. Ginny walked up to him and gave him a quick hug, relieved and proud that Percy had held his resolve.

"I figured we would bring her back here for a while. Her parents are muggles and don't really understand this world, or what we've been through. She might…well…need someone…" Percy laughed nervously.

"No, that's a good idea!" exclaimed Ginny, trying to be encouraging. Truthfully, she was worried about the state in which they might find Penny, and she knew that her mother could comfort Percy if necessary. Harry waked up to Ginny and put an arm around her shoulders. He leaned in and pressed his nose to the top of her head. She closed her eyes for just a moment to revel in the feeling, before being interrupted by Bill.

"Where did Ron get off to? We have to get this thing moving," he said suddenly.

"Oh, he got off somewhere alright! Bloody tossers can't give a bloke a moment's peace. And I only have one ear!" George complained, throwing his hands up in mock frustration.

Ginny could feel Harry shaking with laugher from behind her and she quickly joined him. Despite the confused looks on her remaining brothers' faces, Ginny remembered how they had left Ron and Hermione, and what George had been alluding to. Soon, however, everyone had caught on, and even Percy was laughing.

"So which one of us is going to wake them?" Asked Harry between gasps for breath.

"Well I know I won't!" exclaimed Charlie, rubbing his head gingerly. "Why don't you? He's your friend?"

Harry raised his hands in surrender, "He's your brother, mate."

"What if Hermione isn't decent?" Ginny asked. She was laughing, but she felt her concern had merit. Everyone turned slowly to look at her.

"I'll go!" Shouted George, rushing to the stairs.

"Not so fast!" shouted Ginny. She cast a quick spell to lock up his legs, and was met with an indignant shout. "I'll go. There's no other option. Harry, please obliviate me if I see Ron's…ummm…you know," she said, blushing and running up the stairs before her curse on George could wear off.

Ginny whispered a few unlocking spells after knocking repeatedly, and proceeded to stumble into the now dark room.

"Lumos" she whispered, and cast her light in the direction of Ron's bed. The warmth that had been invading her grief all day was now settling in her chest.

Ron lay there quite humorously, slack-jawed and snoring loudly, but the bushy brown mass of hair invading his bare chest looked absolutely adorable to Ginny. Ron's hands were wrapped around Hermione's bare back, which was sprawled across Ron's surprisingly broad chest. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief at the site of a blanket over their waists.

"Hermione," Ginny spoke quietly, brushing her gently on the back. Hermione moaned and turned to look at her, about to take the blanket with her. "No!" Ginny whispered frantically, as Hermione looked down and blushed.

"Just get up, and both of you come downstairs," Ginny said, walking back out of the room.

Bill was lacing up a formidable pair of dragon hide boots, as Charlie slipped on his taming gloves and jacket. George swung a shield cloak over his shoulders, and Ginny was surprised to see Percy in Muggle jeans, a black jumper, leather gloves, and a dark cap. Her brothers were intimidating to say the least. Harry walked up to her and pressed his forehead against hers. He placed a small box in her hand, and Ginny looked up at him, confused.

"I know you and your brothers have to do this and I know better than anyone how capable you are. I just finished telling everyone that the Minister can't spare anyone yet, as they are doing raids, but they will come as soon as someone reports back," he said. Ginny just nodded, wondering why he was rambling on.

"Well, um, this is just in case," Harry said, opening the box in her hand. A sparkle caught her attention, and she lifted a small, round mirror to her eyes. At the same time, Harry lifted a shard of glass and she could see his bright green eyes staring back at her She realized immediately what it was, and leaned in to kiss Harry softly before slipping the mirror in her robe pocket.

"I've also got my coin," she said quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. Harry wrapped something lightly around her, and Ginny immediately felt the smooth fabric of his invisibility cloak in her hands.

"Keep it in your robe, it could save your life," he said intensely.

"Oi! I should get that, I don't have an ear!" George said, ruffling Ginny's hair.

"Keeping it in the family," Harry answered, meeting Ginny's eyes. That statement, that declaration of how deeply his feelings ran, didn't shock her though. She'd felt that way for over a year, and she knew, the moment it all ended, that he did too. Ginny smiled and leaned into him.

Ron came down the stairs, pulling a black jumper over his head and covering his bright hair in a black cap. Hermione trailed behind looking like she hadn't been roused from bed, yet slightly apprehensive. Ron immediately walked over to the map and started speaking in hurried whispers with Bill.

"I'm trying not to worry, but I've grown accustomed to not having to," Hermione said quietly, moving close to Ginny.

"This is nothing Ron hasn't dealt with, and aurors will be there soon. There are no snakes, snatchers, horcruxes or Dark Lords this time," Ginny said, leaning against her.

"Lumos isn't bright, it doesn't do anything," Hermione mumbled to herself, much to Ginny's confusion

"I know, Hermione," answered Ginny, unsure of where she was going, but she had already marched up to Ron.

Hermione stiffened her shoulders and drew Ron's attention to her. As he turned to her, Hermione opened up the palms of her hands, closed her eyes, and whispered. Ginny gasped from what rose from Hermione's palms.

Hermione's face was grazed with an ethereal blue glow. A snitch-sized blue flame was dancing just above her outstretched hand, and glowing awe reflected from every eye in the room. Ron just gazed intently at Hermione, reaching into his pocket.

Ron presented Hermione with his deluminator, opening it up next to her flame. A blue light, the same shade as her flame, glowed out of it, and they both closed their eyes and smiled softly.

Ginny was at a complete loss for what was happening as Hermione began wandlessly directing her flame to get larger, smaller, and move around the room. Ginny looked to Harry, who just shook his head and said, "She's Hermione."

Hermione guided the flame into the palm of Ron's hand, and Ginny gasped again as Ron's chest echoed the color and he tucked the flame into his deluminator. Ron and Hermione's eyes were locked and burned with intensity, like they were the only two in that crowded room.

"When did you learn to do that?" Ron asked in awe.

"Well, I learned to conjure them the summer after first year. The wandless part just sort of happened at home while I was reading an exciting part of a book. I wanted light, and I was chilly, so I thought of the flames, and willed them to appear," Hermione said, beaming with pride.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Ron, not angrily, but still impressed.

"It was my secret - something that made me special," she said matter-of-factly. Ron chuckled.

"So many things already do that! You're such a showoff!" he exclaimed. Hermione laughed and swatted his arm playfully.

"Well after reading about Feindfyre this summer, I just thought about my flames and tried to produce an antithetical effect. This fire can be controlled, manipulated, cooled, heated, and even stored," she said, getting excited about her pet theory.

Quickly though, Hermione got a sullen look on her face. "I lost the bluebells for a while, around last November. I couldn't get them to appear. Nothing could keep me warm or light my way," she choked out quietly, avoiding his eyes.

Ron lifted Hermione's chin and leaned in very close to her. He whispered something no one else could hear, and she kissed him passionately, right there in front of everyone.

"Well," said Charlie loudly, making the couple jump. "The most clever witch I've ever met has chosen to waste her skill on a dolt. Now let's get going before I melt into mush," he said, winking at Ron and summoning his broom with twinkling eyes

Ginny turned to Harry. His eyes looked haunted and slightly glassy as he ran his hands up and down her arms. "Be careful…please," Harry said, practically begging.

"I will," she said, kissing him with everything she had. She loved the wonton force he always had behind his kiss, the feel of his hair in her hands, the…

"Excuse me! Not in front of her brothers, if you would be so kind," shouted Percy, smiling. He began walking toward the door, the remaining Weasleys following silently.

* * *

Ginny fully appreciated the chair Fred had installed once twenty minutes had passed since they set off. But she wasn't about to give away the broom's secrets. That was between her and Fred. 

She remained, regrettably, between Charlie and Bill. She was slightly affronted at the thought of having them flying so close and veritably baby-sitting her, but on the other hand, they respected her enough to assume she'd come along without question.

Finally, Ron yelled for descent. He had been flying above and ahead of everyone, holding the map and navigating above their heads. Everyone figured that after traipsing about England for a year, Ron was the best with directions. Ginny couldn't argue. Ron could find his way out of the worst hedge mazes and puzzles when they were children, why should now be any different?

Ginny followed Bill into a dive, and a majestic log house came into view. The house itself had to stretch about the length of a quidditch pitch, and it rested on acres and acres of green rolling hills. If she didn't know who lived here, and what went on inside, she would have thought this place was magnificent in every sense of the word. It's beauty and warmth was deceptive, and you could see that reflected in the dark, hollow windows as they approached their landing.

The moment Bill hit the ground, disembodied lights began flashing, a horrible screaming siren was echoing, and large barbed-wire fences sprouted out of the pristine lawn. The house had revealed itself, and the prison was now visible. The sirens were squealing louder, and the sound of men shouting could be heard coming closer. Ginny felt Ron move in closer to her and thread his arm through hers.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Screamed Charlie. How could they have not though about this? What were they to do now?

Ginny thought quickly, pulled the cloak from outside of her robe, threw it over Percy and herself, and jumped behind the bushes. Her brothers would be fine, but someone had to get inside and save Penny. She felt Percy's hand reach inside her robe pocket and pull out a decoy detonator, trying his best to stay very still. The men were approaching, and Bill, Charlie, Ron, and George still weren't covered.

Suddenly, the robe jolted slightly. Percy's raised wand was levitating a decoy detonator in the opposite direction of her brothers. He thrashed his wand quickly and the explosion rattled the side of the house they were leaning up against. Ginny turned to her right and saw the foreboding shadows of approaching foes disappear in the opposite direction.

Bill moved quickly, casting disillusionment charms, so that only a faint outline could be detected. Ron and Charlie has promptly mounted their brooms and headed for the roof. George banished two brooms to the bushes near Percy and Ginny, and turned to Bill.

"Someone's gotta keep their attention. You know that's my job," George said, and before Bill could object, he was flying away, sending whizbangs in every direction but theirs.

"Basement window," the opaque form of Bill whispered in their vicinity. As quickly as it set in, the chaos had subsided, but for a distant echo of various Weasley products.

"Right then. This is going to be difficult, Ginny, with both of us under the cloak. However, I'm not leaving you out here," Percy said, as quietly as possible.

"We can walk right into the front door. I doubt there are many of them in there. We just have to move slowly so our feet don't show," Ginny said, grasping Percy's thin hand for comfort.

"I'm quite strong. I know it seems absurd, but hear me out. What if you got on my back and we went in that way under the cloak? That way, all of our arms would be free, and you can watch for exposure. You're very small, and can fit quite snugly if need be," Percy glanced at her, unsure of his own plan.

"Let's go," Ginny said. She was determined to do this.

Ginny climbed on Percy's lean back, and was surprised at the way he moved. He walked slowly, deliberately, and like he didn't have a person on his back. Soon, they were through the front door and well into the dark bowels of the house.

"I'm going to run a sensor for magical wards. Where those are, so are the secrets," Percy said, drawing his wand. Ginny kept her wand drawn and raised in front of Percy's shoulder, pointing in the opposite direction.

They cased the whole first floor without finding any wards of any kind, and started to move up. Ginny suggested upward, as there were easily four floors above, and only one floor, covered by Bill, below. On the second floor came their big break.

Halfway along a long, dark corridor, Percy stopped suddenly, causing Ginny to almost tumble off of him. He stood completely still, only flicking his wand slightly. "This is the spot," he whispered, and went to work trying any counter curse he could to break the wards he had located.

Ginny almost didn't notice a round, messy man approaching them, like he was listening for something. She knew Percy was breathing heavily and had given them away. She stunned him quickly, knocking him back against the wall.

"Good one. I've almost got this," Percy said, continuing to study the wall.

Something must have drawn attention back to the house, however, because a thunder of footsteps was coming up the stairs.

"My secrecy sensors told me someone was trying to magic away my wards. Now who could that be? Oh come on, loves, show your pretty faces!" screamed the man. Ginny heard Percy faintly whisper "Yaxley," and bring his hands up to hers around his neck.

Ginny had to think fast. She reached into her robe and readied a blasting pod. "Percy, on the count of three, I'm going to jump off of you. For the love of Merlin, be safe. I'm going to have to keep the cloak so they don't follow me," She whispered quickly and with desperation.

"I know what to do. Please, just get to Penny," Percy said. Ginny kissed him on the cheek and counted to three.

The plan happened almost instantly. She hurled a blastingpod at the warded wall, while at the same time, jumping off of Percy and wrapping the cloak fully around her. The pod worked, and she dove into the newly made hole. She heard Percy summon a broom in the chaos of dust and debris.

When she landed on a surface, she immediately started sliding. Downward she sped, stale air pounding at her face. The slide came to an end on a stone floor, and Ginny had to stifle a yelp of pain, as she heard a loud crack come from her arm. She gingerly rose from the floor and looked around.

"Show yourself. I told you if you ever came down here again I'd kill you!" came a familiar male voice from the shadows. Ginny quickly ripped off her cloak. There was no point now, her cover was blown.

"Ginny Weasley? They got you too?" came the familiar voice again. He stepped out of the shadows, and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. There was Justin Finch-Fletchly's face staring back at her.

"No. My brothers and I came here to find someone and rescue her. We're here to help. Lets get you out, somehow," Ginny said, frantically searching the high stone walls for a way.

"There is now way," came a feeble voice from the corner. She was a middle-aged woman, with cuts and bruises all over her. Her face was sunken in and her hair was matted. She clung desperately to a man who could only be her husband. He looked equally terrible. Ginny was struck at a large bundle they seemed to hide behind their backs.

"Weasley…." Came a weak, terrifying whisper from behind them. "Percy," came a louder, sob-like, airy cry.

"Penny!" Shouted Ginny. "Is that you?"

"That's Clearwater," said Justin, attempting to stand on an obviously broken ankle. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Penelope was okay. But soon, a new panic flooded her. How were they to get out?

The answer came quickly. Ginny was obviously underground, and that's where Bill should be as well. Ginny cast a patronus and watched her horse move through the walls to find Bill. In no time, the wall was blasted down. He was a curse breaker, for Merlin's sake!

"Penny is here! Bill! We've got her! But there are others, as well. We have to get them help," Ginny said frantically, rushing up to Bill with her arm cradled in her chest.

"We'll apparate. Can you take Penny?" Bill asked, taking the arm of the frail woman.

"What of the wards?" Asked Justin, skeptical at the possibility of freedom.

"Taken care of," said Bill, unable to resist a slightly smug look, even in this dark hovel.

"I'm well, I'll take Reg," Justin said.

"To the Burrow. Do you know the way?" Bill asked Ginny's classmate.

"Yes. I've seen it in pictures that Percy had at prefect meetings," he answered, and without another word, disappeared with the frail man.

"Percy!" Came a weak screech from a pile of blankets at the mention of his name. Ginny rushed over and uncovered her face. Her lips were dry, her hair dirty, and cuts had scarred her face. There was an unbearable look of pain in her eyes.

"I'll take you home, Penny. We'll apparate right now," Ginny said, nodding to Bill, who left with a pop. As Ginny readied herself for the familiar squeezing sensation, Penny screamed.

"You can't, you'll splinch," she said, panic evident on her face.

"I am perfectly okay to…" Ginny started, but was interrupted by a desperate grab at her shirt.

"Well if you don't think you can, I have a way to take you. It just so happens I can get a broom with a chair," Ginny said, placating the hurting witch.

"Keep it safe," she whispered, slipping into unconsciousness. "Don't let it splinch, we don't know where it's sitting," she said, her head lolling and her body going limp.

"What? What is it?" Ginny screamed.

"Percy's," Penny said, using her last bit of strength to place Ginny's hand on her stomach. As Penny went unconscious, Ginny was filled with both panic and joy.

A baby. Now the stakes were even higher.


	13. I'm Yours

**Chapter 12:**

I'm Yours 

_So I won't hesitate no more, no more  
It cannot wait I'm sure  
There's no need to complicate  
Our time is short  
This is our fate, I'm yours_

Ron Weasley landed gently on the roof of the foreboding house beside his brother Charlie. He could hear loud crashes and bangs coming from the direction that George had flown. Whizbangs lit up the sky, and would have looked beautiful if not for the obvious risk George was taking lighting them.

Charlie, ever the show off, had managed to dangle himself from the edge of the roof and was using a wand in his teeth to vanish the glass of a round attic window.

"You know, I could have helped you with that," Ron commented, leaning over the edge to watch Charlie swing through the new opening.

"Yeah, but ickle Ronniekins was looking at the pretty lights, I didn't want to upset him," Charlie said, groaning as he hit the floor. Ron climbed down, swung through the window, and landed with grace on the attic floor. He felt a small surge of smugness at his superior landing. Despite what he'd been through, Ron still possessed pangs of insecurity when it came to his brothers.

Ron and Charlie walked carefully toward a trap door they had discovered in the attic floor, but only after ensuring that their disillusionment charms were still intact. Ron lifted the door allowing Charlie to leap down first. After Charlie flashed his illuminated wand in every direction to check that the coast was clear, Ron dangled from the ceiling and dropped onto the ground.

The hallway was unbearably long, but luckily they had landed at one end of the corridor. That way, they didn't need to separate to comb the walls for places where Muggleborns might be hidden. Ron could only shudder as he imagined the number of spiders that must have been tucked in the dark spaces of the cavernous walkway.

Charlie stopped dead, causing Ron to crash into his broad shoulders. "Shhhhhh," he whispered, which seemed redundant to Ron, who was already silent. "Did you hear that?" whispered Charlie, absurdly pressing his ear to a vacant space of wall. Ron leaned his ear closely, but heard nothing.

"I think you've gone mental, big brother," Ron whispered, pulling away from the wall.

"Bombarda!" screamed Charlie, blasting at the wall. Nothing happened.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Shrieked Ron, in a choked, forceful whisper, as he looked frantically from side to side. Surely they would be caught now. The ease Ron had been feeling about the mission quickly faded. Charlie moved in close to Ron, puffing out his chest to try to meet Ron's height, which was an exercise in futility.

"Don't you find it odd that nothing happened when I tried to blast that fucking wall?" Charlie asked, turning red as only a Weasley can.

Ron thought for a moment and nodded slightly. He placed a finger over his lips and turned to further examine the wall. They needed to see what was behind it if they wanted to have any success.

Charlie pulled a neatly folded piece of parchment out of his pocket, opened it, and began poring over the mysterious document. His lips moved as he read. Ron was reminded of Percy as Charlie devoted all his concentration to this new study. Suddenly, Charlie leapt back, raising his thick arms and brandishing his wand. Finally, in one shouted and unfamiliar phrase, Charlie made a slashing motion and their quarry was blasted away.

"How in the hell did you do that?" Ron exclaimed in complete disbelief.

Charlie smirked; the kind of smirk meant to make younger brothers feel stupid.

"Bill," said Charlie simply, walking through the rubble-filled hole he had just made.

The first thing Ron noticed about the dark, cavernous room was the smell. The cold, wet air hung heavy with a scent of old books and standing water. However, a more disgusting and disturbing smell wafted underneath the first: The smell of death. Ron could scarcely hide his need to retch behind a cough.

"I'll take left, you take right," Charlie choked out, tying a handkerchief over his mouth and nose. Ron followed suit, and tied his handkerchief in front of his mouth as well.

Ron stepped carefully across the hard concrete, a light 'drip drip drip' accompanying the sloshing sound of his footsteps. At last, the ceiling opened up into a high, towering expanse that couldn't even possibly fit into the house. However, Ron couldn't take long to marvel at the architecture as a row of iron barred doors came into view.

"Lumos," Ron said, looking carefully into the first cell. It was empty, and Ron couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief. He looked over at Charlie and saw the glow of his wand coming from another cell.

Suddenly, Charlie came running out, vomiting into an empty bucket. Ron rushed over, and when Charlie came back up, Ron conjured a stream of water from the tip of his wand, allowing Charlie to rinse out his mouth. Ron didn't need to ask what was there. He could smell it. He placed a hand on his elder brother's shoulder, and when Charlie gave a nod, Ron went back to his side of the cavern, all the more aware of what he was looking at.

Thankfully, he reached the final cell without having to endure what Charlie had. Ron shined his light into the small cell and found nothing. However, one more look found a glare of pale flesh and rags piled in the farthest corner, shivering with life.

"Hello?" Ron called as he opened the door with his wand. The tiny thing just whimpered and threw small arms over its bright, blonde head.

It was then that it occurred to Ron that this tiny prisoner was a child, a very frightened child. Ron swallowed a lump in his throat, lowered the mask from his face, and crouched low next to the child.

"Hey there. My name is Ron Weasley. Who are you?" Ron started, trying to get the child to unfold, but it only whimpered more loudly and faced more directly into the corner. Turning its back to him, Ron could see the tears in its shirt, delicate skin peppered with blood and wounds. A long cascade of hair, whiter than Fleur's, fell over most of the child's back. Judging by the size, shape, and hair, Ron concluded he was looking at a girl.

Ron couldn't even begin to imagine putting someone so small and defenseless through any of this. It made him sick, and slightly scared, to think about what kind of people could stomach this sort of evil. Ron wanted to cry out, to yell in rage, to scream for someone -- anyone -- to help. But he knew this was his job, and he had to do the best he could.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help. Tell me your name," Ron said, reaching out to push a tangled piece of hair away from the girl's ear. It had always worked when Ginny was small.

The little girl's face was suddenly revealed. Despite her sunken eyes, protruding cheeks, and bruised face, she evoked memories of Ginny when she was little. The girl turned her face to him, sad blue eyes blinking up at him, looking frightened and helpless. Ron had to choke back a lump again, and the thoughts of what could have happened to her in there.

"Do you want to come with me? I can get you out," Ron said as gently as possible. "I promise I won't hurt you." He held out his hand in hopes of coaxing her from the corner.

"I'm Izzie," she whispered, turning toward Ron. She did not take his hand, however, but kept her knees curled protectively toward her chest.

"Well hello Izzie," Ron said. He forced a smile and leaned against the wall, trying to give the appearance of calm so he could take her out quietly. "Do you wanna go and find your mommy and daddy?"

Izzie turned tear filled eyes up toward Ron, and let out a miserable sob. Her reaction came as no surprise to Ron. A little girl held captive in a cell at a Deatheater's home was most likely alone in the world. Ron dug his nails into his knees to keep the rage rising in his chest suppressed.

"That's okay. You can come home with me and my mommy can make you some yummy food!" Said Ron, with false enthusiasm. It seemed to brighten her spirit slightly. She stayed quiet, but inched her legs closer to his.

"I have five, I mean four brothers who love to play with little princesses like yourself," Ron said, leaning his head town to her. Izzie finally perked up and turned to him, grabbing his arm.

"I have two, and they like to make me their princess too! But Colin and Dennis are at school," she said, hanging her head, but not letting go of his arm. Ron sparked at the sound of her brothers' names.

"Blimey! You're a Creevey!" Ron said, leaping to his feet, excited to have made some headway. Ron knew what became of Collin, but he also knew he saw Dennis leave Hogwarts through the portrait.

"Of course. Isabelle Maureen Creevey!" She said, standing up next to Ron. She was weak, however, and she began to stumble as her legs buckled and she cried in pain. Ron got on his knees and turned his back to her.

"Do you want to ride on my back out of here?" Ron said, hoping this happened quickly so they could get out. Thankfully, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck and he rose easily, carrying her out of the horrid cage.

"Are you a knight?" Izzie asked innocently.

"I can be tonight, if you let me take you away from here," Ron said, smiling at her earnest tone as she squealed with delight.

Outside, Ron met Charlie, a pallid young woman draped ungracefully over his broad shoulders. "Sweet Merlin! There was a little girl in there?" Charlie shouted, looking as though he would be sick again.

Before Ron could answer, a feral yell was heard and two large masked Deatheaters broke in, brandishing wands, and immediately began shooting curses at Ron and Charlie. The latter raced over and grabbed a screaming Izzie from Ron's back as Ron flung off countercurses. The young woman wrapped her arms around Izzie and they crouched in a corner.

Ron and Charlie stood shoulder to shoulder guarding the freed prisoners that were huddled and crying against a wet stone wall. The two Deatheaters stood, wands raised, but looking at the girls with maniacal gins on their faces. Fear gripped at Ron. What would he have to do to help Izzie?

"You will not hurt them anymore. You're leader is dead and now you're just another wanker in a mask!" Ron yelled, readying himself to duel.

"What to you reckon, Amycus? Shall we torture the wee one in front of him? Remember when we were torturing that Muggle slut? Little ginger here was crying like a baby!" Yaxley Sneered, pushing his face into a macabre pout to mock Ron.

"Yeah, too bad we couldn't have a go! She wasn't bad for Muggle trash!" Amycus answered, making lurid gestures with his hands.

Anger coursed through Ron like he had never felt. This is why they fought, and he wasn't about to waste the risks he had already taken by losing out to perverted, bottom-feeding scum. The heat coming from Ron's clenched fists reminded him of Hermione's fire. In honor of his clever girl, he opened up his deluminator and let a suspended blue flame levitate out.

"Reducto!" Shouted Yaxley. Ron had to dive out of the way of the curse. He gathered up the bluebell in his hand and silently commanded it in the direction of the offending Death Eaters. As the blue flame approached its targets, it grew steadily bigger until finally engulfing them.

The affect of the simple act of commanding the flame left Ron and Charlie in awe. They were unaware that Yaxley had escaped the grips of the billowing bluebell.

"Sectumsempra!" Shouted the surviving Deatheater. Ron felt a rush of pain as a large gash began to stain his orange shirt red. Charlie put up a shield and leaned over to help Ron, but the shield was barely holding to the barrage of curses Yaxley was throwing.

"I've got to get you out of here. Can you apparate?" Charlie asked, leaning in closely. Ron could barely breathe, let alone answer as Charlie continued shooting spells to keep the shield intact. The young woman grabbed Charlie's wand and started to keep the shield up, thrusting spells with her frail limbs.

"I'm not strong enough to hold them long! Get out of here!" She screamed at Charlie.

"Izzie!" Shouted Charlie. The little girl crawled over to Ron's side. He could feel her tiny hand grip his shirt as Charlie's voice was fading away. Charlie tossed a butterbeer cork to Izzie and everything was dark.

Ron awoke to cold smatterings of rain on his face. He still felt sick, weak, and in great pain. He was not yet healed. He could feel the small hands tapping his face.

"You need to wake up! I have to tell you I'm going to get help," Izzie cried, her tiny voice dripping with fear. Ron managed a meager groan in response. She echoed back in a panicked whimper.

A familiar blue light was emanating from Ron's chest. If he could only get to his deluminator, he could go. He moved a hand toward his pocket and screamed, as his chest felt like it was ripping open. He pushed through the pain until Izzie took the tool from him.

"Open," he grunted at her, grabbing her hand. He felt another familiar pull as everything went black.

* * *

Hermione Granger sat nervously in the Burrow's sitting room, picking at the underside of her fingernails. They had been gone for nearly an hour with no sign of returning. She had done her only task and summoned Mr. and Mrs. Weasley back. Now she, Harry, Molly, and Arthur sat sipping tea in dense silence, with Harry offering a comforting hand on her shoulder every now and then.

At the sound of frantic knocking, both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley leapt up and ran toward the door. When Mrs. Weasley flung it open, a chubby girl with blonde hair and dark-rimmed glasses looked fearfully back at them.

"Oh Samantha dear, they aren't back yet," Molly said, bringing the girl into a warm hug. Hermione chuckled at how uncomfortable the girl looked in Molly's crushing embrace.

Happy for the distraction, Hermione wove her arm through the Muggle girl's and led her into the sitting room, whispering, "You'll just have to get used to that." Samantha found her seat on the sofa next to Hermione and took up nervously crossing and uncrossing her fingers.

It was horrible to have to quell a surge of panic every time she gazed at the clock and Ron hadn't moved from his position of 'mortal peril'. Another knock at the door caused everyone to jump. The visitor didn't wait to be let in, just barged in.

"Why isn't 'ee back yet?" Cried Fleur, as her elegant arms flailed wildly at Mrs. Weasley.

"We don't know, we haven't had any word," groaned Arthur. At those words, Fleur found her own seat and began twirling her silvery locks around her finger and chewing on her bottom lip. A singsong voice drew Hermione out of dark thoughts about the outcome of the evening.

"Tea!" Called Molly. She attempted to set the tray on an end table, but her hands were shaking wildly. Arthur leapt to help her. He put his arm around her and guided her to the small sofa by the fireplace.

"Mom!" Came a distant yell form outside.

"Ginny!" Shouted Harry, racing for the door, leaping over various pieces of furniture to get to her. As she landed on the ground, two groups of people apparated into the back gardens. Hermione hoped one of them was Ron.

Hermione rushed outside and saw Ginny flying toward the ground. She was on the most absurd looking contraption. It looked like a very fine broom, but atop its shiny handle sat a cushioned chair holding a lump of blankets behind Ginny. As Ginny's feet graced the dewy grass, Hermione recognized Penelope Clearwater peeking out of the blankets. There was a small sigh of relief amongst the onlookers.

"Ginny," whispered Penny. "He doesn't know," she said, desperation in her eyes. Hermione wanted to question the cryptic words, but Ginny was already reacting.

"Mom! Percy's room, now!" Ginny demanded, attempting to lift Penny herself. Harry rushed to help her, but was pushed aside. Molly grabbed the other end of Penny's weak form.

"I promise, Harry," Ginny said as she grunted up the stairs under Penny's weight. "We'll come together later." Harry looked slightly placated.

Hermione turned her attention back to Bill, who was clinging desperately to Fleur. The strangers in the yard slowly became familiar to her. She saw Justin Finch-Fletchly swaying on the spot where he stood. She rushed over to her fellow prefect to hold him up. "I just didn't want to apparate myself to St. Mungo's in my state, as the likelihood of splinching in such a busy place while in my condition isn't very encouraging," He said, looking as though he was about to pass out. Hermione was about to offer her help when Fleur grabbed a surprised Justin's arm and they disappeared on the spot.

Desperate for distraction, Hermione moved to the couple seated on the ground, the woman sobbing weakly into the man's arms. She needed to do something to silence that nagging voice in the back of her mind. As the man looked up at her, she recognized him instantly as Reg Cattermole, the maintenance worker Ron impersonated at The Ministry. Mary sat next to him, her arms loosely gripping his. Reg didn't recognize her, and Hermione hadn't the mind for introductions.

"Do you want me to contact your family after Bill and Fleur take you to the hospital?" Hermione, asked, kneeling on the ground next to them.

"It wouldna do ya a bit o good missy. They er in hidin. They made it out o this place before it all hapnd. We didna," Reg said, in an accent thick enough to rival Hagrid's. How Ron hadn't been caught that day was beyond her. Hermione just nodded when her attention was turned hopefully to another pop as Bill apparated away with the Cattermoles.

Charlie appeared next, sprinting briskly across the front lawn, holding a limp, dark-haired woman in his arms. Her head dangled lazily off of his arms and he didn't stop to ask for help. He just ran in, and up the stairs. Three home, three to go.

Hermione felt sick as Bill and Fleur reappeared. "Why isn't Ron back," she whispered in the direction of the sky. A high-pitched scream drew Hermione farther across the lawn. She sped through the large yard to where a bloodied body in Ron's clothing was being clung to by a screaming girl holding his deluminator. Realization hit Hermione. She lost strength in her legs and fell a few yards from where Ron lay. She was vaguely aware of Bill helping her up and rushing them both toward a symphony of screaming.

Everything else faded away. There was no sound but the rushing of blood to her ears. Everything was blurred save for the bright red spattering of blood littering his beautiful, pale face. Hermione saw and felt nothing but Ron, and he was slipping away. She threw herself over his chest, trying to shield him, keep him warm, heal him with her tears…anything.

She felt herself being pushed out of the way. She could feel the vibrations in her throat as she screamed for Ron over and over again. The firm grip on her shoulders as she kneeled on the ground by his side snapped Hermione back to reality. She looked around her and saw Arthur and Bill leaning over Ron's motionless form. Fear flooded Hermione and she leaned into Harry's embrace. The only light came when Bill confirmed a weak pulse and some breathing.

"We need dittany before we heal these wounds. He's lost so much blood," Arthur said fretfully.

"I have blood replenishing potion leftover from last year," Bill exclaimed, Disapparating on the spot.

"Hermione! Where is your bag?" Harry yelled as he jumped up, almost knocking her to the ground.

"Under my camp bed," she said dazedly as Harry ran into the house.

"Pain potion," Arthur mumbled, rushing into the house. Hermione grabbed Ron's hand so he wouldn't be alone.

"Shhhh. I'm here," she whispered shakily, using the sleeve of her jumper to wipe blood from his face.

"He can't die," said a small voice behind her. Hermione turned to notice the small girl found with Ron still clinging carefully to Fleur's leg. Fleur moved to put an arm around Hermione. The small girl followed. Sitting at the top of Ron's head and holding herself tightly.

"I mean he's my knight in shining armor. Knights don't die!" Cried the little girl. Hermione just shook her head and sobbed.

"Relashio!" yelled Harry as Ron's clothes ripped away. Harry scooped out a generous helping of dittany and rubbed it into the horrifying wounds on Ron's chest. The smooth yellow cream was mixing with Ron's blood in gory swirls. Hermione joined Harry, rubbing vigorously as his wounds began to heal.

Harry took off his jumper and undershirt and used the latter to wipe the remaining liquids from Ron's bare chest. A small part of Hermione relaxed as she could see the pale pink swollen lines replace his gushing wounds. If the inside could heal as the outside had, her Ron would come back to her.

A 'pop' signaled that Bill had returned. He kneeled next to Ron, tears in his eyes, and tilted Ron's head back. Fleur's small hands gently rubbed Bill's shoulder as he poured the shocking blue liquid into Ron's mouth. A loud sputtering cough came from Ron as Hermione took his hand and pulled it against her. Between coughs came gasps and cries of pain. Hermione found herself yelling and crying with him.

"Shhh, I'm okay," Ron groaned trying to reach for her. Talking must have pulled his chest, because he let out another cry.

Arthur grabbed Ron's head to tilt him up and let the cool red pain potion pour into his mouth. Ron lie back on the ground and let out a deep breath. A wracking sob turned her attention away from Ron.

Harry was sitting on the ground, shirtless and covered in blood. His hands covered his eyes, and as he removed them, blood was seen smearing his glasses. He began to shake with cries. At this, Hermione looked down and saw that she was covered in blood as well. Through her sobs, Hermione watched as Bill levitated Ron back into the house. Hermione reached for Harry and they shared their mixed emotions of fear and relief until they were strong enough to go inside and wait for Ron to wake.

Hermione would wait forever if she had to. She was his. There lay no doubt in her mind.

* * *

Ron woke to a pounding head and a vague sensation throughout his chest. However, a voice coming from beside him motivated him to open his eyes, despite the pain coursing through his entire body.

" 'But I don't know the answer to your riddle, Ogre!' Beadle said, thumbing the Ogre on the nose and running across the bridge," Hermione's voice wafted into Ron's ears and soothed him. A little tingle of laughter told him someone else was in the room. The dead silence picked through Ron's train of though and he knew he was found out.

"Ron," came Hermione's voice, shaking slightly.

Her blurry form came into focus as she leaned over him, an uncertain look on her face. He tried to say her name in reply, but only a wisp of air came out. It seemed to be enough, though, because Hermione began sobbing and laughing in equal measures, covering his face with kisses. Ron could feel a grin forming as the pain in his head subsided. He could melt in those happy laughs.

"Sir Ronald of Weasley is awake by kisses from his Lady Miney!" sang Isabelle. Ron pushed through the pain to prop himself up and watch the small child prance around his room.

"She has barely left your side, saying a princess must greet her hero. So I've had company in here," Hermione smiled sadly. Ron didn't bother to respond; as he was content to just watch her soft lips move and form words. Hermione sighed gently and lowered her tone. "She's incredibly resilient. She was there for almost a month from what we can gather. She told your mother that she recited every fairytale she knew over and over again. I think her imagination kept her alive and kept her from being too damaged," Hermione said, looking sadly at the still dancing girl.

"She looks like she's better already," Ron said, pain running through his chest when he spoke, causing an involuntary grunt. Hermione placed a hand over his lips and smiled tenderly.

"The Aurors found Dennis in the Creevy's cabin in the Highlands. Mr. Weasley says he's never seen anyone so young be so drunk. Dennis though he had lost everything," Hermione trailed off, watching Izzie dance in circles in the room. "I did too," she whispered. Ron took the chance to reach out and grab her hand.

"I made a promise, didn't I?" He asked, reaching up to pull her into a kiss. The feeling of her trumped any pain he had.

"Hey, Sir Ronald! Luna and Dean are going to take me to Dennis today! Miss Luna says I'm better enough now. Wanna come?" She said, bouncing around excitedly.

"Not today. I think I'll just rest up a bit," Ron answered, messing her hair. She kissed him on the cheek and skipped out the door.

"Better is right," Ron commented, flinching a little at the effort of those few sentences.

"Luna has some very effective empathy skills. She was going into Izzie's mind and soothing her soul," Hermione said, impersonating Luna's airy voice. "It seems bogus to me, but it also seems to be working, so I won't question it.

"You gave her another chance, and look how well she's gotten," Hermione said, absently running her hands over his bare chest. Ron knew there was no damage below his navel now, as his cock twitched for Hermione's simple ministrations.

"How long have I been out?" Ron asked, attempting distraction.

"Two days. Your mother thought it best that you sleep through the healing, but we can give you a rejuvenating potion now," Hermione said, rising to leave.

"Only if you disguise it as a fry-up, love," Ron said, responding to the painful emptiness of his stomach.

Suddenly, Hermione rushed back and grabbed the sides of Ron's face. She kissed him fiercely, allowing her tongue to move vigorously around his mouth. Ron was filled with a burst of energy as he threaded his hands through her glorious hair. A large growl came from his stomach, and he inwardly cursed his hearty appetite for ruining the mood.

"A fry-up it is then," Hermione laughed, leaping off of him and heading into the kitchen. Ron rose, still shaky on his legs, and decided to take a shower, as Merlin only knew how filthy he was.

Ron stepped out of the shower and into some clean jeans. He quickly toweled off his hair, excited at the prospect of food. He had taken a rejuvenating potion before he washed off, and now, despite the stinging in his chest, he felt exceptionally magnificent.

He stepped into his room, following the scent of bacon to a tray on his bed. Sprawled out next to the tray was a fast-asleep Hermione. Ron had a pang of guilt at the realization that she probably had little sleep waiting for him to wake up. However, the large roar of his stomach won the argument over his sense of guilt.

After cleaning his plate of bacon, eggs, and biscuits, Ron quickly ate the chocolate frog placed next to the plate, and gazed at Hermione with reverence. He wasn't going to be one of those blokes who went dancing through the hills in a nightdress, thanking the stars he was still alive, yet he was immensely grateful. He was especially thrilled to be alive and awake as he very much enjoyed the sight of Hermione sleeping. He would run with his lips, and she would be his hills.

Ron decided to test his strength by hovering on his forearms above his sleeping beauty. Her hands lay neatly folded across her chest, and he didn't want to hurt herby crushing her hands. He kissed her softly at first, and then with more passion, as he held himself above her. She didn't open her eyes, but her hands moved to his back and she kissed him with the passion of being alive again herself.

Ron lowered himself gently over her, as they continued to drown each other in kisses. When Hermione's hips thrust toward him, Ron pressed back, his reaction instantaneous. He wanted to feel what he lived for, wanted to be completely hers. Her beautiful scent was filling him, replacing the darkness of the cells and prisons he had almost died escaping from. Her soft skin took over any painful sensations in his chest. When he brought his hand to her breast and she moaned, Ron knew why he woke up on this particular morning. He needed to give himself completely to Hermione.

Ron rose up and unbuttoned Hermione's jeans. She put a steadying hand on his shoulder to stop him. He looked at her with concern. Had he gone too far? Had she not recovered yet from their previous time together? Ron ran his fingers across her face and waited for her to speak.

"I want you so bad. I need you now," she moaned. Just hearing her as desperate to feel alive as he was made him thrust his hips toward her. She lost her words momentarily as she pressed her center toward him.

"I want you too Hermione. I want to be yours forever. I never want to sleep again," Ron said, kissing down her neckline and unbuttoning her shirt.

"Are you sure you're okay? I don't want to hear you cry out in pain, love," she said, looking deeply into his eyes. Ron just nodded and pressed his erection against her. She moaned and pulled her shirt off the rest of the way.

Ron was looking at the face of eternity, everything he needed, as far as he was concerned. He was looking at Hermione in a bra and knickers, while she gazed lovingly up at him. He had never needed anything more than this. Ron felt a lump in his throat at the overwhelming look in her eyes, and started to kiss down her abdomen so she wouldn't see his eyes tear up. As he reached the lining of her knickers, Hermione thrust up again.

"Please. I just want to feel you inside of me. I just want to feel you here, with me, forever," she whispered, almost in tears herself.

Ron pushed her underwear to the side, too urgent to wait to get them all the way down her legs. He let himself look at her wonton face once more before thrusting into her. She let out a keening cry and her hips met his underneath.

"Oh Merlin, Hermione. You feel so amazing. You feel like everything," Ron whispered, trying to keep his movements calm for her to enjoy it a little more. He was ready to come, but he needed to see her as happy as he was.

Hermione answered him with quick, hard upward thrusts, moaning loudly as her lips pressed against his neck. Ron reached down and rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts. Soon, her legs and arms were tightening around him and her body began to shake.

"Don't ever leave me, Ron. Please," Hermione begged between moans.

"I'm yours. I'll never leave," he groaned thrusting wildly.

They came together. When Ron felt the exquisite softness around his cock tighten, he couldn't hold on anymore. He let go with the force of running through a thousand hills, thankful for being alive. He cried her name until they both calmed down.

Ron leaned back up and looked into her eyes. Tears were falling down her cheeks, and Ron could feel his eyes water. He never thought he could love someone so much, and it almost hurt.

"I'm yours too. Forever," Hermione whispered, brushing his hair from his face.

Ron pressed his nose into her neck and breathed her in. She was everything right with the world, and he would spend his whole life making sure she knew it.


	14. Love is Real

**AN: Okay guys! I'm getting near the end and I could really use some love. If you've read this fic and have enjoyed it let me know. If you've been reading this fic and loathe it...hell...let me know! I need more feedback if I'm going to get inspired and write some great last chapters. **

**Chapter 13**

**Love is Real**

_Love is real it is not just in novels or the movies  
It is fact and it is standing here right in front of you  
So if you just open your eyes, oh what a sweet discovery  
There is hope, and there is joy and there is acceptance_

Percy didn't even have time to offer a silent wish for Ginny's safety as she dove through the dark hole. The approaching Death Eaters had already begun shouting curses at his suddenly revealed form. It took all of his strength and concentration to maintain shields and fire defensive magic. He was only one man, so he could not stay and fight. He had to get where he would have enough time to Apparate home.

Percy dove away from an offending jet of purple light and landed on his broom. Flying out would be the best option, and the only one at this juncture. Percy looked at the blank wall to his right, the window to his left, and the ceiling above. In a quick few seconds, Percy decided that his best hope for escape would be a clever ruse. He couldn't go up, as there were most likely two more floors to blast through. The wall meant evasion, but more difficulties on the other side. The window would mean shards of glass, but it would get him out quickly. The idea came to him. He blasted the wall with a _reducto charm_ and ran toward the hole, as the two Deatheaters went to thwart him. Hidden from view by the smoke and dust of his spell, Percy leapt on his broom and crashed through the window.

As he crashed through the window, jagged glass ripped through his clothing and across his face. He was in pain and losing some blood, but the angry yells of his would-be attackers calmed Percy's nerves. He swerved out of the way of spells, finally making it over the roof where he could take a moment to assess the situation. There was no way he could even think of leaving without Penny, so he needed to find another way back in.

Suddenly Percy was struck by the absence of sound. For some reason George was no longer providing a distraction. Percy looked around, searching for his brother, until he spotted George flying above a group of four Death Eaters who were firing curses at him from the ground. He was outnumbered, and the exertion of dodging spells coming from four different directions was exhausting him. For their part, the Death Eaters looked like they were hunting a pesky bird.

George was flying fabulously, simultaneously dodging spells while casting his own. He was also flinging Peruvian Darkness Powder and decoy detonators in an attempt to maintain confusion. However, he could never hope to divert them long enough as they had cleverly spread too far apart for George to combat them effectively. This left the Death Eaters vulnerable to a surprise attack, and Percy meant to make this their undoing. His plan was to pick them off one by one, and began with the closest black-robed figure. Percy stunned his opponent and bound him with textbook efficiency.

Percy's second target proved to be a more daunting opponent. Although he was an obvious ignoramus, he had the dumb luck of turning around just in time to come face to face with Percy as he made his approach. As a result, Percy was forced to fight against the Death Eater before eventually taking him down.

Percy inwardly cursed the wasted time once he was again able to look around, and saw that George was no longer fighting from the sky. Moments later, Percy heard George's primal scream coming from about 100 yards to his left. He sprinted through the woods as quickly as he could, finally coming upon his brother and two seemingly victorious Death Eaters. He ducked silently behind a large tree to consider his options.

Percy Weasley was used to warring with himself, during which times he could normally temper his own inner conflicts with logic. However, as he peeked out around the tree, these abilities failed him. George was screaming in excruciating pain as a Cruciatus Curse coursed through him. Overwhelmed by emotion, Percy wanted to jump into the clearing and throw himself over his brother, taking the brunt of the curse upon himself. His normally sharp mind was clouded by George's agony, but at last the powers of logic rippled through him. He needed to find a way to take down one Death Eater without suffering the wrath of the other.

Percy's grip tightened on the sleek handle of his broom. He was suddenly struck by an obscure theorem he had learned in school. _Burnett's law of Flying Charms indicates that the charm may be manipulated to last without a human presence._ The words hit Percy like a bolt of lightning, and finally his sense of logic and his emotions were on the same page. Percy's mind raced for a way to apply this understanding, but he needed a distraction that would not fall short.

Percy looked about, trying to find something useful, and his eyes fell upon George's discarded pack as if by chance. By connecting a decoy detonator to his broom with a sticking charm, he could cause an explosion to occur a few acres away, hopefully luring one of the Death Eaters in another direction and away from George. Percy carefully used a hovering charm to move over to George's pack and slowly pulled the tiny, innocuous looking object out of the bag. He then attached the small explosive device to his broom and sent it away.

A few moments later, Percy's well-designed explosion resulted in the desired reaction. As the blast echoed in the woods, both of the men who had been attacking George jumped up and momentarily lost concentration. The larger assailant, who had a dark gray beard and gigantic sloping shoulders, ordered the other Death Eater off to investigate what had happened. The smaller man, who had greasy brown hair, did as he was told and headed away from the place they had been torturing George.

Percy hated to leave George alone, but logic told him it would be best to take out the smaller Death Eater first. Following stealthily, Percy was able to use a non-verbal spell to stun and blind the wretched little man.

A soul-shattering scream pulled Percy from his moment of self-satisfaction, spurring him to run back toward his brother. He abandoned all plans of maintaining stealth and brandished his wand. Unfortunately that proved to be his undoing. Alerted by Percy's rash actions, the remaining Death Eater was able to cast a Shield Charm.

Percy needed time to regroup, so he leapt behind another tree and cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself. The charm was successful, rendering Percy nearly invisible to his opponent.

"Oh! But I wanna play!" cried the Death Eater in an absurd little mocking voice. "Well, I guess I've got to wear out this toy first. Maybe we'll go for your other ear. You won't need it anyway when I'm done with you!"

"No! No! No!" screamed George in panic, before he cried out again in pain.

Percy launched a barrage of spells, flinging everything he could think of at George's assailant. His brain didn't even register what he was doing as he sent a myriad of colors flying from the depth of his defensive arsenal. Percy absorbed some hits, fell backward, and possibly broke some bones. However, the sight of George lying motionless on the cold forest floor kept him motivated. All that mattered to Percy at that moment were George, Penny, and his other family members who were still in that house.

In an instant it was all over. Percy had no idea what spell he had cast, but the Death Eater was no longer standing. The explosions and flashes that had burst from his wand, as well as the rage that caused them, were suddenly gone. Percy found himself staring at two unconscious forms that were lying upon the wet leaves. He quickly bound the Death Eater and moved over to George. He could still hear shouting in the distance, so he knew he would have to get George out and come back for Penny.

Pulling George into a sitting position, Percy pointed his wand and screamed, "Ennervate!" George's heavy lids fluttered open and his crisp blue eyes met Percy's. However, he didn't say a word or react in any way.

"Come on George! You have to snap back in!" Percy cried, lightly slapping his bloodied face. "You have to come back. I blew up a perfectly good Cleansweep for you!" Percy said, hoping he might shock him awake.

"For fuck's sake, Perce, why didn't you just use a stick! Clever, my ass!" George mumbled, smirking despite his weak voice.

"Oh shut up! I was trying to save your bleeding life!" Percy exclaimed, feeling glorious relief melt through him.

"Speaking of which," George said, his eyes facing in the direction of approaching shadows. Percy drew his wand and prepared for the worst, but it never came.

Instead, there was Minister Shackelbolt's big gleaming smile shining down at them, looking ready and willing to fight. Percy leapt to his feet and helped up George, who appeared very pale and wobbly in the light of the aurors' wands.

"There are still more people in there! Can you please go help? I've got to get George home," Percy said, forcing down panic when George's body seemed to slacken against him. Shackelbolt nodded his assent, and Percy and George disapparated.

The two men made a soft, graceful landing on the lawn of The Burrow, only to be met with a disturbing sight. Harry and Hermione were quietly weeping with blood all over them.

"Harry! Hermione! Are you guys alright?" Percy said, panicking at the sight of all the blood.

Hermione looked up and simply nodded as Harry rushed over to help Percy lay a terribly weakened George upon the grass.

"I'll go get Fleur," Hermione said shakily, finding her legs before rushing into the house. Almost immediately, Fleur and an unfamiliar blonde came rushing out. The strange woman let out a sob as Fleur fell to her knees at George's side, digging through her apron for magical substances to heal his wounds.

Fleur rubbed some dittany on a long wound next to George's ear, and it instantly closed to look more like a scar than a gash. Feeling slightly more relieved, Percy began to remember how he had come upon his old home. The nagging question of whose blood was all over Harry and Hermione tore at the pit of his stomach.

"What else ees 'urting? I need to know what to do weeth you," Fleur said, obviously trying to remove as much pain as she could.

"I just need some pain potion and a little energizing tonic, dear flower," George said, smiling slightly as she rushed off to help.

A soft sniffle came from behind Percy. George slowly lifted his arms toward the blonde woman Percy had not recognized. However, she seemed to falter slightly as she walked to his side.

"Come on, love. Your old fallen soldier needs a little sugar," George said, winking at her. She carefully kneeled beside him and wrapped her arms around his torso.

Percy saw that as his cue to go back for Penny. He had already wasted too much time. As he turned to apparate, he heard someone yell his name, and turned to find Ginny running toward him. The weight of another brick left Percy's chest as his sister approached relatively unscathed.

"Whose blood was all over Harry and Hermione. Where is everyone?" Percy asked, questions falling out of his mouth before Ginny could even finish jogging up to him. His relief at seeing her gave way to the busier parts of his mind.

"No! You have to come inside with me right now," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the house.

"Ginevra, I have to go back for Penny!" Percy shouted, struggling against her shockingly strong grip.

"She's upstairs. Just come on," said Ginny seriously. The blank look on her face chilled Percy to his bones. He could only imagine the worst as he climbed the stairs to his old bedroom.

It was so unnervingly silent on the third floor that Percy could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Percy, feeling shame in the pit of his stomach, let Ginny open the door and whisper the news of his arrival. He was too afraid of what he would find to dare enter uncovered.

As Percy entered the dimly lit room, his mother and sister exchanged glances and crept out. As the door shut, Percy came face to face with all of his fears. Penny was lying motionless in his bed, wrapped tightly in a collection of quilts. Her face was gaunt and bruised. There were dark circles around her eyes and her lips were dry and cracked. She looked like she had lived in hell for the last five months. Percy wanted to cry, but couldn't find the strength.

Something beautiful occurred, and Penny was transformed once again into the goddess Percy thought her to be. Her chest slowly rose and fell, and her lips parted. The room was so quiet that Percy was able to hear the rush of air she was taking in. She was breathing. She was living. She was magnificent.

Percy walked slowly over to her and sat on the edge of his bed. She was so thin that she was almost unrecognizable. However, she maintained a doll-like appearance, which made her seem both terrifyingly delicate and overwhelmingly strong, alternating with every pass Percy's eyes made over her damaged body. He chanced running a long finger down the side of her face, flinching as if she might crack. When she didn't, Percy leaned his head in closer, feeling the warmth that was emanating from her. Percy made a silent vow that she would never be cold or hungry again. Of that much he was certain.

Percy reached into his robe, pulled out a small velvet bag, and enlarged it. He rummaged around until he found some of Penny's necessities. First, was her muggle CD player, which he would save for when she woke. She loved to listen to Billie Holiday. Percy smiled slightly to himself, imagining her in shorts, wearing his tee shirt, and singing as she danced across the living room. Finally, he found her lip balm and opened it. As carefully as he could, he rubbed the film over her broken lips, hoping to soothe what he could without waking her. He allowed his finger to linger longer than it should, simply to feel her beautiful lips against him again.

Percy Weasley had always felt entitled to many things. Fame, success, and respect were expected and often received. But love? Affection? These were words for which he scarcely even knew the meaning. Of course his mother and father had always gazed at him with love, but that was where it had stopped for Percy. His siblings seemed to loathe him. He had few, if any friends, and in his beliefs, girlfriends only happened to those who were spectacular. Then Penelope Clearwater had come along, and his perception of the world changed.

As she was lying there, needing him, Percy vowed to take his ambition and direct the strength that fuled it into Penny and her recovery. She was his ideal of love, after all. For a while, Penny was all Percy had to lean on … to love. After all that had happened over the past few months, he finally understood the true strength of family and would never forget it again.

Penny let out a small whimper and began shifting in the bed. Percy sat up and began to fumble with potions at the end table. His shaking hands came across a pain potion, and the red liquid jostled as he held it up to meet Penny's now opened eyes.

"I'll be okay, Percy. Although I could use some water and another one of those biscuits." Penny spoke with little more than a whisper, pointing to the food tray beside them. Percy promptly handed them to her. As she closed her eyes and ate slowly, Percy couldn't speak. He just stared, willing the tears on his cheeks not to give way to an open cry.

Penny turned to him, eyes tearful as well, He clasped both of her hands in his. Her fingers were cold and thin, but still tucking comfortably in his palm.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry they took you and I didn't fight harder," Percy said, crying into their clasped hands.

"Ginny told me you figured this out. You found me. You came back to your family to help me. That is courageous and amazing. I don't think I've ever felt more loved," she said, burying her nose in his curly mop of hair. "You never gave up, and neither did I," she whispered soothingly into his ear.

"Percy?" Penny suddenly said, pulling back.

"Yes dear," Percy answered, wanting nothing more than to climb under the covers with her.

"I was afraid to ask Mrs. Weasley. But as I'm too weak to do it myself…well…Is there any way for me to bathe?" She asked sheepishly. Percy saw the pink glow reach her cheeks and felt warmth at the showing of life spurting out of her hollow face.

"At once, my lady," he said, rising and bowing, walking backwards out of the room, never once lifting from his bow.

Her weak laugh may have been quiet, but it rang loudly in Percy's mind.

Percy dashed down the hallway and across the walk, which overlooked the living room, heading toward the nearest washroom.

"All of zis blood! Oh Beel, eet's everywhere!" Fleur cried from inside the loo. Percy walked to the door, not wanting to intrude, but very curious.

"Shhh, love. It'll come off," Bill said, coming into view. He was gingerly wiping her face with a spare cloth before siphoning off what he could of the blood.

"Ron's blood, Beel. Ee was so close to death, and…oh Beel!" she cried, burying her face in his neck.

Percy let out a gasp. It was Ron who was causing the tremors of uncertainty in the household. Ron was the person Hermione and Harry had been crying for in the yard. It was Ron whose blood was staining various nooks and crannies of The Burrow's intricate and warm designs. Percy didn't know if he could stomach losing another brother so soon after returning.

Bill and Fleur had noticed Percy standing there.

"It'll be okay. He's alive. He's resting. He needs time to heal," Bill said, putting an arm on Percy's shoulder. Percy just nodded and watched them leave the washroom. Ron had almost died for Percy's cause -- for Percy's plan. The guilt and shame he had so often felt when thinking of how he had abandoned his family came back ten-fold. Percy fell back against the railing overlooking the sitting room, momentarily forgetting about Penny's bath.

Looking into the warm, rugged room below, he saw his little sister on the couch consoling Harry. He still had flecks of blood blotting his bare chest. Ginny was holding him fiercely, and they were both crying. She was whispering to him, most likely words of comfort, and he was shaking his head and rubbing his eyes vigorously.

"Don't you dare. I've had enough self-pity and guilt for a lifetime in this house," Molly said, sidling up to Percy. "It's time for us to recover. We will all be okay, now that we are all together."

Percy hadn't really spoken much to his mother since his return, as the shame of his desertion was still too real for him.

"Things would have been so different if I had been here, where I was supposed to be, all along," Percy said, meeting his mother's soft brown eyes.

"Well you weren't here, Percy. And there's nothing you can do about that. But you are here now, and that is all that matters to your old mum," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Percy put his arm around his mother and leaned into her. How he could have ever left home was now beyond him.

"My most clever boy," Molly said, patting his back, She then grabbed a towel and headed back down the stairs.

Percy remembered Penny and went about starting a bath for her in the large tub. He rummaged through her pack and brought out her lavender bubble bath. He summoned candles to light the room, and pulled out her favorite shampoo. He wanted her to feel at ease and at home. He even used magic on her CD player to make it waft Lady Day through the dim room. After everything was to his standards and his knowledge of a perfect bath, Percy made his way back to his room to fetch Penny.

On his way, he saw Hermione crying softly on the stairs leading up to Ron's attic bedroom. He didn't have to ask why she was crying, but he was surprised to see her sitting there in the dark.

"Did you need anything, Miss Granger?" Percy asked. It was all he could think to say. He knew nothing of other women's emotions, and barely even knew Hermione on a personal level.

"No, I'm alright, Percy," Hermione said, hastily wiping her eyes as she rose. She quickly straightened her newly cleaned clothes.

Percy remembered the feeling moments ago when he had to face Penny's room. He slowly walked past Hermione and continued up the stairs. The tiny steps behind him told him that she was following. She couldn't bear to open the door for fear of what she would see. Percy knew this, and opened the door first. Walking fully into Ron's room, Percy gazed at him lying peacefully on his bed.

"Thanks for being brave. Not that I didn't expect it from you. No matter what you may think, you're the brave one," Percy whispered, touching Ron's arm. The quiet cries from behind him told him that he should wait until Ron woke up before saying anything more. For the moment, Hermione needed to be there alone.

Remembering the bath, Percy took his leave and went back down to Penny. He found her tracing the patterns of the quilts that were draped over her legs. Her long fingers ran along his mother's little scenes of patchwork girls and gardens, and she looked at peace and slightly happy. Percy was suddenly struck by her strength and resilience. She hadn't lost herself in that horrible place where she had been held captive, and that was a larger feat than any daring rescue attempt.

"Percy. I'm not sure that I can move so well. My muscles have atrophied a little. Could you help me to the tub?" She said, a sheepish blush grazing her skin again.

"I'll do you one better, Penelope dear," Percy said, swooping in and lifting her carefully toward his chest. She let out a satisfied hum and closed her eyes, leaning her head into the crook of his neck. Percy's jaw was clenched at the realization that she was so easy to carry he could have done it with one arm. He was determined to feed her nonstop until her weight was back to normal.

Percy pushed the door open with his foot and placed Penny gently down on the stool in front of the sink. Penny reached up to untie a ratty ribbon from her hair, and long blonde locks fell in dirty lumps over her shoulders. She leaned over to take off her socks, but let out a cry of pain and frustration before making it down to her ankles. Percy removed her socks, carefully placing the filthy things nearer to the door. Penny's blush now flooded her entire face and neck.

"Let me take care of this, love," Percy said, runny his hands through her hair and kissing her forehead. He didn't care how messy she was, she was still his shiny new Penny.

After looking uncertain for a few moments, she nodded and closed her eyes, as if she was preparing for some horrid punishment. Percy tried to quell her insecurities by kissing her again after lifting her shirt above her head. Her bare breasts had a surprisingly full swell considering the fully exposed clavicle that topped them. He unclasped her jeans and lifted her to pull them over her bum. He sat her back down and pulled her jeans off over her feet. She was looking everywhere but at him, and it hurt him that she couldn't meet his eyes, that she thought him that shallow.

When she finally turned, she let out a gasp that made Percy jump. "What? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?" He said in a panic, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"My legs," she started. Percy could see what she meant as he moved from the shadow of the candle to give himself a better view. Large bruises dotted along very slender limbs, covered with a smattering of cuts. Her legs were also quite hairy, something Percy probably would have found slightly endearing in any other situation.

"They will heal, love," he whispered, taking her knickers down. He was more than a little grateful to find that there was no bruising on her inner thighs, he didn't know if he could handle the thought of someone violating her in that way. He lifted her naked body back to him and placed her in the warm, lavender scented tub. He then restarted the music while she settled in.

Penny closed her eyes, a soft smile playing across her lips. "I missed Billie," she sighed, dipping herself farther into the bubbles. Percy rummaged through the bag and presented her with the shampoo he had brought from home. She reached for it, but when she grasped it, her arms bowed under the small amount of weight and it fell into the water. Percy retrieved it and placed it back on the ledge. He rose up and removed his robe and shirt.

"May I?" He asked, holding up the dripping bottle of shampoo. Penny nodded, sitting up. Percy arranged himself behind her and let warm water flow from his wand to wet her hair. The water fell in beads down her pale skin, and Percy marveled at how she seemed to glow, even in the dim light of the candles. It was inexplicable, but something seemed so different about her. He rubbed in the soap and began working it into the ends of her long hair, enjoying the quiet purrs of happiness coming from her as he washed the filth of that awful place from her hair.

When that task was finished, Percy took his bare hands and scooped up handfuls of bubbles, rubbing them delicately across her injured arms and legs. Using his hands, he scrubbed lightly at the smudge of dirt that stained her skin. Percy reveled in the feeling of her, warm and alive beneath his wanting touch. It had been so long, and he had almost given up. But now here she was, his again, and his forever.

He lifted her leg up and cast a spell, which quickly removed her hair. He repeated the process on the other one, and she breathed a small sigh. "Thank you love, I didn't want to be mistaken for a werewolf," she said smirking.

"Any time," Percy said, letting out a small chuckle. From this angle, he noticed that her stomach looked distended. He had to suppress the surge of rage as he realized she was probably so malnourished, her stomach was swelling. She let out a large yawn and Percy rose to get her a towel.

"You need rest, Penelope. Lets get you toweled off," Percy said, vanishing the water in the tub and producing a towel that covered almost her whole body. Of course it was her favorite from their flat. She held it close to her and breathed it in, her eyelids getting heavy. Seeing her tired expression, Percy made quick work of drying her and wrapping her up. He carried her quickly to his bed, so she wouldn't get cold, and placed her naked form back under the covers. He rummaged through the bag again and produced an oversized tee shirt she often liked to sleep in.

Percy decided he needed to sleep as well and undressed to his boxers before crawling in. She was shivering lightly, so he slipped the shirt over her and wrapped his arms around her waist and over her round belly. Suddenly, Penny's stomach jolted causing Percy to jump.

"Are you feeling ill, love? Oh dear, I don't think Mother should have fed you biscuits as your first large meal. I'll fetch you some peppermint tea," Percy said, rising from bed and rummaging for his shirt.

With great difficulty, Penny stood on her weakened legs. As she wobbled perilously, Percy rushed to catch her just as she began to fall. Percy went to speak, but she pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Remember, about a week before I was…well…about five months ago?" she asked, unable to speak of her abduction. "You had come home from work and I was doing my yoga?" Penny continued, looking up at him. Percy smiled to himself as he recalled the complete defilement of her favorite workout clothes. While he was wading through the memory of that wonderful night, Penny took his hand and placed it on her stomach. Percy's breath stopped suddenly.

Percy's chest tightened, and his whole world began to spin around him. He could feel a slight jostling under his fingers as Penny's unsure gaze met his. He looked into the deep pools of her green eyes and was struck with the most all-consuming and certain joy he had ever felt. A tear fell from his cheek, but Penny quickly wiped away.

Before he knew what was happening, Percy was shouting with excitement and kissing Penelope's stomach.


	15. Running

_Let me crawl into your lap and just lay here for awhile_

_Satisfied by your seduction like a handshake would do the job_

_Never know how long I have waited_

_anticipated your smile to be pressed against mine_

_your smile pressed against mine_

**Chapter 14**

**Running**

George remained on the ground, allowing the potion Fleur had given him to kick in. Samantha had her head on George's chest and her arms wound tightly around his neck. He could feel a slight shaking in her shoulders as he rubbed comforting circles on her back. He realized she would probably never admit it, but she had to be scared to see him in this condition. He just hoped he wouldn't pull back to see her crying, because his composure would be completely lost. George wanted no more time wasted on sorrow.

The pain that was plaguing his muscles slowly began to fade, leaving him unable to suppress the urge to spring to his feet. The sudden unexpected movement caused Sam to tumble backward to the ground.

"Hey! I'm trying to show some gratitude that you're alive! Don't go and make it ironic!" Sam said, smiling as she rose and brushed dirt from her jeans.

"Sorry love, the potion kind of gives you a jolt," George answered, chuckling as he placed an arm around her.

A heavy silence invaded the space around them as their light laughter died down. George grabbed her soft hand, pressed it against his lips, and took his time breathing in her uniquely enchanting scent. As he did so, her fingers curled and began tracing the outline of his mouth. It was perfect bliss -- the best remedy for the night he had just endured.

"George?" came Samantha's voice, breaking through his thoughts.

"Yes?" he whispered. He pressed his forehead against hers, meeting her dark green eyes.

"What did they do to you?" she whispered, running her finger along his healing wound. "I heard your brother saying something about a curse…a crusty attic or something. You look like you've been through hell even though you were only gone for an hour," she said, tears pooling in the delicate corners of her eyes.

"It's called the _Cruciatus Curse_. It's a magical means of torture," George said, having difficulty explaining while she was gazing at him so openly. She bit her lip, making her face appear strong. She walked in circles around George, rubbing her hands up and down the parts of George she could reach, as if examining every inch of him for damage.

George turned to face the house and felt Sam's head come to rest upon his shoulder. He snaked a long arm around her waist. From their vantage point, they could see the frantic bustle of activity through the dusty glass of The Burrow's windows.

"Shall we go see if we can help?" Samantha asked, turning her bright eyes up toward him.

George thought about it for a moment. He knew he should go and help where he could. He knew that it would be the right thing to aid his family until he could be assured that everyone was okay and all was right with the world. The George of Yesterday would have wanted nothing more than to drown himself in others' problems and avoid his own demons.

But this was the George of Today, and that meant something completely different. Today's George had seen death. He had seen what giving up would bring him. He had seen what Fred had died for, an event in which he found no tragedy, but only a sense of resolve. George couldn't fear his own mirror, not after today.

George pulled a coin from his pocket, tapped it with his wand, and whispered 'Portus'. "I'll meet you at my flat in about 10 minutes," he whispered, brushing some hair away from her eyes.

Samantha nodded and began to speak, a question apparent in her eyes. But she absent-mindedly caught the coin George had tossed in her direction; unaware of the charm he had placed upon it. George lingered only long enough for her disappear with a distinct whooshing sound, and then turned on the spot, Disapparating instantly.

George landed in the darkness, the dew from the grass soaking through the cuffs of his trousers. He could still see The Burrow, lit warmly on the hill, but the light wasn't strong enough to illuminate this quiet garden on the edge of the creek. He walked slowly across the spongy earth until he reached a long mound of dirt.

George kneeled next to the simple stone monument that marked the spot, and let his fingers sift the freshly dug soil. A light shone from above him. A small sphere of disembodied light hovered over the tomb. Only those closest to the Weasley family knew that the mysterious light had come from Ron's Deluminator for the sole purpose of illuminating the words for visitors to see:

_**WWW**__**Here Lies Frederick Gideon Weasley**_

_**Beloved Brother, Son and Friend**_

_**April 1, 1978 – May 17, 1998**_

_**Mischief Managed**_

George leaned his back against the side of the stone and let the cool night air move through his long, shaggy locks.

"The period of mourning should have expired the moment you did. I know you wouldn't want me locked away," George said, releasing a heavy sigh. "Knowing you, I'll bet you're probably trying to hunt some poor bird just to get a peep. Even if you aren't, I know you're still here. I can feel you, but I'm lost…" George whispered, willing himself not to cry.

Another strong gust of wind blew dirt and dust in his eyes.

"Oi! I get it! I should be such a woman!" George exclaimed. He pulled out his last Whizbang, letting it burn over Fred's grave.

George knew he'd always feel empty, and a little lost without his twin and partner in crime, but he wouldn't hide away and he wouldn't be alone. Fred would haunt him into madness if he got all mopey and depressing.

With a smirk at the thought, George Apparated to their flat for the first time since he and Fred had departed to fight in the Battle of Hogwarts.

He found Samantha kneeling over an album on the sitting room floor. He walked over, quickly to scoop her in his arms, but got a slap in the face instead of the embrace he had anticipated.

"Don't you ever do that again! First, I you sent me flying through the air, and then I practically busted my knees upon landing in this bloody flat!"

George felt alive at her fire and anger. He loved the spark of raw emotion radiating from her. He dropped to his knees and carefully rolled her pant legs up. Sure enough, she was covered in bruises.

"I am but your humble jester," George proclaimed, kissing the soft tight skin over her kneecaps. "What doth the queen ask of her servant?"

"Do a jig, I command thee!" She said, a smirk forming on her face.

George surprised her then by flailing his arms about while doing a rendition of 'Cauldron of Hot Strong Love'. They both started laughing uproariously, but as George calmed himself, he saw tears sliding from her eyes while she shook with sobs.

"I almost lost you tonight, didn't I?" she cried, wringing her hands and suppressing sobs. "I just got you! We just got started, and I don't want to be alone anymore! I can't do it by myself. You are too perfect. I don't want to find this, and then have it all disappear in the blink of an eye. I get the feeling that I've almost lost you more times than I know," she finished, sitting resignedly on the posh leather sofa.

George rushed over, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her close to his chest. He felt totally connected to her. She had always appeared so strong and aloof, yet here she was, echoing his fears. He found that he simply wanted to wash it all away.

"Shhhh love. I'm here now and I'm never letting you go," he whispered, pulling her even closer and pressing his nose into her hair.

"I'm so in love, Sam, that I don't' know up from down."

"Yes, I know, but is it safe for one to love oneself so much?" she asked, mockingly pressing a finger to her chin.

"Cheeky wench," George exclaimed, tickling her sides.

She squealed with laughter and began racing through the house, George quick on her heels. She opened the door to the shop and ran down the stairs. She stopped dead at the bottom.

George had forgotten the last time he had seen the shop, and realized it had never been without Fred close by. Verity had done spectacularly at keeping the shop in perfect order, and George made a mental note to shower her with money when next he saw her.

The store sparkled with memories. Bright colors whipped through the room to signify the best selling products. Various clicks and jingles could be heard as the magical objects performed their dances in the empty store.

"Your shop is so much better than mine," Sam whispered, running her fingers along the sweets counter in the back.

"Oh! But yours has a certain _jew no say coif_ to it," George said, flourishing his hands as if he were Fleur.

"It's pronounced _je ne sais quoi,_ you ignorant clod!" she said, turning her nose up, but failing to hide a smile.

George gave in to a compulsion to grab her and kiss her fiercely. She was all he needed, and he aimed to show her exactly that. They spent a few glorious moments pressed against the sweets counter, hands roaming in desperation to be impossibly close. However, the irritating squeak of a Junior Detonator caused her to startle.

Samantha winked at George and then made her way through the shop, looking for the offending noise. He laughed to himself as Samantha stopped dead in her tracks in the center of a bright pink, glittering aisle. George came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and leaned his head in to whisper in her ear.

"This is a line just for witches…and wizened Muggle girls like you."

"Mmmm," Samantha murmured as George began placing soft kisses on her neck. "Well I'm a wizened Muggle girl."

"Do you want to try some?" George asked, excitement suddenly flooding through him. It had been a long time since George had been close to his merchandise, and now everything came rushing back to him. He grabbed item after item off the shelves and piled them into Sam's overwhelmed arms.

"George, I can barely hold all of this," she exclaimed, laughing heartily at his enthusiasm.

At the look of laughter on her face, George was drawn again into her bright eyes and welcoming lips. He was so full of energy that his mind hummed in every direction. It was as though the events of the day had awakened him from a two-week sleep and he was trying to make up for lost time.

He wanted to run through the store and retest all of the products. He wanted to call Verity immediately and go over his books. He wanted to run, jump, and swing Sam around in his arms. He was buzzing and had no idea how to get relief.

"George!" Samantha yelled, placing her hands on his face and moving him so his eyes met hers. "Let's do this one step at a time. I know you're about to burst here, love, but you've been through a lot and you're going to overload," she spoke calmly, stroking his face and neck as though he were something precious.

The buzzing sensation diminished and was replaced with feelings of lost emptiness once again. But he was Today's George, and this enhanced version of George Weasley knew that while there would always be a sense of emptiness, he simply needed to fill it.

"Why don't we start by letting me have a go at one of these little boxes," Samantha said, pointing to a small pink box.

"That's a glamour charm. It changes things like hair, eyes, and skin," George said, carefully opening up the box to reveal a small orb.

"Is this how George Fabian Weasley became the Prince of Darkness?" Samantha smirked.

"Now that you mention…Wait! How do you know my middle name?"

"We had to do something while we were waiting for our misbegotten knights to return. Your mother showed me some lovely baby pictures of your cute freckled arse," Samantha said, running a hand over his bum.

George knew it was funny, but he was too busy willing himself to not get an erection like some ruddy virgin from how close her soft body was pressed into him.

"So this changes the way you look, huh?" Sam asked, reading the box.

"Just the eyes, hair, and skin, love," answered George, making a point to kiss her between words.

"Oh. No body changes," asked Samantha, sounding and looking disappointed.

"No, because no one should have to change their body for vanity's sake. I don't ever want a bit of you to change, especially not due to magic," he said, wrapping long arms around her once again.

"Hmmm, of course not. I'm stuck this way," she murmured against his shoulder.

"Thank Merlin!" George exclaimed, pressing himself against her and snogging her hard, right there in the glamour aisle.

George felt a rush of blood as she moaned into his mouth and gripped his shoulders. He let his lips and tongue dance lazily over Samantha's, and enjoyed her grateful moans. Emboldened, he allowed his hands to creep up the back of her shirt until he could caress her bare skin. She tasted like Canary Creams; only the sugar was far sweeter on her tongue. He was so overcome with want and love that he felt a powerful jolt in the pit of his stomach. He had never thought his emotions would run so deep, but here he was, Today's George, feeling love, lust, and loss in equal measures and having to balance them.

Right now, however, he wanted to tip the balance of the scales in favor of Samantha. By some miracle of graceful kissing, they found themselves pressed up against the smooth glass of the sweets counter. George felt cold glass against his palms, with which he braced himself as he pressed his hardness against Samantha. She leapt up onto the counter, leaving George pleased to find that they fit together like pieces of a puzzle at this height. Suddenly, none of it was enough. George had an idea that left him smiling to himself.

"I've always wanted to do this to you," he whispered, and with a wave of his wand, every last strap of Samantha's clothing was gone.

"Holy shit!" She cried, letting go of him to cover herself from the bright lights.

George wanted to tell her that she was amazing, that there was no need to hide, but the strain against his jeans told him there was no time, so he resolved to show her.

He ran a long finger over her lips, enjoying the soft feeling against his calloused hands. He moved her hair behind her ear and began to kiss down her neck and across her shoulders. He lifted the arms that crossed her chest and threaded his hands in hers. When her bright green eyes met his, pooled with love and trust, George abandoned his initial plan, kissing her hungrily as her hands worked to lower his trousers.

He made quick work of undressing once she pulled his shirt off and luxuriated against her large breasts, which were now pressed firmly against his hard chest.

"I need you, Sam. I need you forever," George groaned, pressing himself against her warm center.

She moaned in approval, wrapping her legs around his waist. "George, I'll always be right here. I love you too much to ever let you go," she whimpered.

He couldn't holdback any longer. George heard her cry out as he pressed into her wet folds, his thighs meeting the cold glass as his lips met hers. She pulled herself against him even more closely, causing George to moan as he filled her completely. He felt the emptiness leave him, and he knew he was no longer lost. In fact, he wasn't anywhere he needed to be found, and he never wanted to leave this feeling behind.

Samantha began rocking against him more urgently, whispering his name as if she were pleading. George obliged, allowing his hands to leave her back. Gripping the counter, he pushed into her faster and harder, feeling his release building as her nails dug into his back with determination. She came first, crying out unintelligibly.

As her walls tightened around him, George let go, wrapping his hands around her as he came forcibly inside her. He then buried his face in her neck as she pulled every inch of him into her.

They barely made it back up the stairs before the moment struck again.

Certainly, Today's George was a much happier bloke. And somewhere, someone was smiling down at the prospect of so thoroughly defiling a place where their customers purchase their candy.

* * *

**Running: Part II**

_I took the hits and I turned to shit_

_and if you had noticed well would you have thrown the towel in_

_before I missed out on all this love_

Harry awoke relieved to find Ginny curled up on his lap and sleeping soundly. He sighed as the momentary knot in his stomach released and he let his fingers trail along her silky hair. The sun peaked through high windows and shone on the lovers entwined on the couch, still leaden with the dirt and blood of the previous night.

Harry now knew what it was like to be on the other end. He now knew what it was like to wait with baited breath and wonder if your loved one will come back alive. Harry was always the one to leave and let others worry about his safety. But last night the tables were turned and he was left behind with his thoughts -- dark thoughts, all of which ended in Ginny's untimely death.

When she came flying back, Harry wanted to laugh and cry in equal measures. He felt miserable knowing he had put his friends through that kind of uncertainty over and over again. So Harry breathed a sigh of relief and pulled Ginny closer, thankful that at least some of the fear and doubt were forever gone.

Harry could hear shuffling from the rooms above, and felt uneasiness invade him. He had been avoiding the upper floors of The Burrow all night. Ron brush with death had stabbed at Harry so forcefully that he had wept on Ginny's shoulder for what felt like hours. Harry simply couldn't face Ron's nearly lifeless body or Hermione's pain-stricken face. He knew deep down that Ron would make a full recovery, but he couldn't deal with even a hint of losing another person he loved.

Harry pulled the shard of mirrored glass from the moleskin pouch he still wore around his neck, careful not to wake Ginny. He took a moment to look at himself and thought of Sirius. It felt terribly empty to experience such a victory yet not have his godfather there to enjoy it. Merlin knows Sirius had given up enough to have earned the opportunity to be a part of the celebration. Confronted with this sad thought, Harry couldn't help but smile sullenly to himself, thinking of the party Sirius would certainly have thrown at Grimmauld Place.

That house haunted Harry in its own right. It was his now. Sirius had left it to him. He knew he couldn't allow it fester and rot. To let he Black family home die in such an ironic manner, wouldn't properly honor the memory of Sirius. But Harry knew he wouldn't be able to enter that house again without feeling the chill of death – without allowing the darkness to encase him. If only the warmth of The Burrow could be bottled and transported to paint the walls of that gloomy home.

Harry curled close to Ginny, absorbing her warmth in order to drive away the chill of his dark thoughts. She woke and slowly turned to meet his eyes. The morning sun illuminated her brilliant red hair and reflected like fire from her bright brown eyes, engrossing Harry completely. Suddenly, words were tumbling from Harry's lips before he could keep them from escaping.

"Will you live with me at Grimmauld Place?" Harry asked. His heart raced uncontrollably as her eyes grew wide and she failed to answer. Nearing a state of panic, he knew he couldn't retract the question, but realized he had better say something in the wake of her silence. "We could fix it up, make it like a real home, and we'd have Kreacher! And all those rooms! Hell, maybe Ron and Hermione could come too," Harry added, trying to sell her on the idea of leaving home.

It occurred to Harry that the warmth of The Burrow would come with him if Ginny were there.

"Well, I would really like to finish school, and even though you're the savior of the world and all, you might want to finish up too. But…" Ginny started, her cheeks turning red as she met the anxious gaze that accompanied Harry's request.

"Oh I know it's too soon. I didn't mean now…just…you know…later," Harry finished; happy he hadn't made a complete ass of himself.

"Ooooh! We will all be of age by the time we get back to Hogwarts, and we could take breaks and weekends to go and remodel the house! And it shouldn't take too long once we've learned about construction spells," Ginny said as she sat up, positively radiant with inspiration and excitement.

"So you'll move in with me?" Harry asked, as the world grew suddenly brighter.

"Sure. It'll be nice to have a little spot," answered Ginny, smiling and snuggling back into him.

"I've gotta tell Ron and…" Harry began before his voice faded away at the remembrance of why he had fallen asleep on the couch, and why he was still covered in dried blood.

Seeing his discomfort, Ginny reached over and ran her fingers gently through his hair. She gave him a soft smile, trying to offer a bit of comfort. She remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, willing Harry to relax. When she finally spoke, her voice quivered noticeably.

"Why don't you go upstairs and talk to Hermione. I think she really needs you right now. She hasn't moved from his side all night. After we got Ron settled, she just pulled up a chair beside him and sat there, not saying a word."

"I just…I don't think I can stand to see them like that. There's so much I haven't said yet…" Harry began, but he was interrupted when Ginny's fingers pressed against his lips.

"Forget all of your misgivings right now. Hermione's parents are still in Australia and now Ron has been horribly injured. She has to be feeling lost and alone. She needs her best friend, so you need to get over yourself," Ginny said, kissing his cheek before vanishing into the loo. Harry gave up all hope of procrastination when he heard the shower start.

Harry approached Ron's room slowly, his feet growing heavier with each successive step. He was relieved to hear no sound other than Ron's faint snores coming from the other side of the door. He hoped Hermione would be asleep so he could avoid having to talk to her.

It wasn't that he was afraid Ron would die, for it was certain he was going to recover. Instead, Harry feared being alone with Hermione -- having to watch her pained expressions…again. After their harrowing escape from Malfoy Manor, Harry had focused completely on the mission at hand, as had Ron and Hermione. So the nagging voice in his head that rose up every time he had looked at his two friends … or thought of Dobby … had been silenced by the critically pressing need to finish what he had started.

But now? Well the time after war came to an end was supposed to be one of mourning and reflection. Harry, however, had faced more than he could possibly reflect on in a lifetime. Now he faced his two best friends, one laid up and one beside herself with worry. But, no matter how difficult it was for Harry, he knew he had to be the one to stand by them.

So Harry conquered his fear and sat on the bed beside Ron, as Hermione had the only chair. She looked up at his arrival, her dark eyes looking so hollow and gloomy that it stabbed at Harry's heart. He didn't know what to say or do, so he casually took Ron's hand for a second. He simply wanted to feel the warmth of life flowing through Ron for a bit of added reassurance.

"Hermione?" Harry started, uncertain of what to do next.

"Yes, Harry?" She said, not looking up from the book, her hand never leaving Ron's face.

"Do you ummm…need anything?" Harry asked, moving a little closer to her.

"Just for Ron to wake up," Hermione said, finally looking at Harry.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Harry said miserably, running his hands through his hair.

"Ron isn't dead, Harry. And don't even start blaming yourself for any of this. It was Voldemort and you should know that by now," Hermione snapped, sounding angry but being betrayed by a quivering voice.

"No. I'm sorry I said Riddle's name and you got tortured. I'm sorry I was careless. And I'm even more sorry I wasn't there for you," Harry said. He was shocked that he could speak so frankly. The thought had been lurking in his head ever since that horrible night, but he had never imagined spitting it out, especially in this particular kind of situation.

Hermione looked up at him and her features softened. Tears formed in her eyes and she hastily looked away to hide them.

"Oh Harry! I can't believe that after all we've been through, you even need to say that," Hermione replied, moving to sit near him.

"But you were hurt. She could have destroyed you, but you were amazing! That all could have been avoided if I had listened to Ron," Harry said, ending in almost a whisper.

"You're right, but it's over now and we found another Horcrux because of that ordeal. Not to mention that night was the night in which you became the master of the Elder Wand! The fact that you think you need forgiveness from that night hurts, Harry. You know Ron and I were with you no matter what. You didn't raise the wand at me, she did," Hermione said, meeting his eyes. Harry simply looked at her and smiled, letting her lean against him as she turned to place a hand in Ron's hair again.

"Is he awake?" Came a voice from a lump in Harry's camp bed.

Izzie's bright blonde head appeared, causing Harry to feel immense sadness by nothing more than looking at her big eyes. They were devoid of all light and hope.

"No, dear," Hermione sighed. The small girl rolled over and went back to sleep.

"She won't leave this room. All she does is sleep, use the bathroom, and cry beside Ron. The poor thing has been through so much. I think Ron is her last little bit of belief in something good. He is her fairytale hero, after all," Hermione smirked, more to Ron than to Harry. "I just don't know what to do," Hermione said, running the hand in Ron's hair down his arms and over his scars.

"What has Mrs. Weasley said?" Harry asked. Surely she could help.

"She's been so caught up in Penny that I worry she forgot Izzie was even here. I just…I can't do it right now."

"Fleur and Bill?" Harry asked.

"Tending to Christine, the young woman Charlie rescued. She's pretty bad off," Hermione answered.

In and instant, Harry got an idea as Pig landed on his shoulder. He took a piece of parchment from Ron's desk, and hurriedly wrote a letter to Luna Lovegood.

_I'm running to catch up again_

_jumping higher and flying more often than not_


	16. Childlike Wildlife

**_AN: Okay, this is the second to the last chapter. I'm sorry it's taken so long to update, but I wasn't satisfied with my first version and had to work on this one extra hard. Since we're nearing the end, I need a lot of encouragement to end this story beautifully! REVIEW! _**

**Chapter 15**

**Childlike Wildlife**

_I do not become me___

_For path tunnels or straightaways ___

_I do not watch as often as I should___

_So instead I sketch my life a comfortable creature___

_Slow and beautifully___

_Oh the smell and tastes of the past nights___

_Well they're still locked up in my gentle jaw_

_Oh this childlike wildlife is flooring me___

_Oh this childlike wildlife is flooring me_

Dean sat at the breakfast table of the Lovegood's house. Despite the rubble, or perhaps because of it, he was enjoying the open-air feel of the kitchen. He casually thumbed through an old issue of _The Quibbler_, amused by Luna, who was crooning happily as she prepared breakfast. She looked oddly beautiful in a bright yellow apron that was decorated with a smattering of red dots. She was dancing through the rubble while gathering the proper ingredients. Dean's heart swelled as he watched her crack an egg before drizzling it into a cast-iron pan. Adding to the artistry of the production, Luna swirled simultaneously in a graceful pirouette in front of the stove.

"What's gotten into you?" asked Dean, chuckling.

"I believe you did," Luna replied, cocking her head slightly while gazing at him. Dean wanted to make a smart comment about the double entendre, but realized she probably meant it as literally as would an adolescent boy.

"How do you take your eggs, Dean Thomas?" Luna asked, pressing her lips on the top of his head as she took his order.

"I'm a fan of sunny side up, love," Dean smiled, running a hand down her arm.

"Hmmm. What an odd way to refer to the dead fetus of a chicken, but I suppose it's quite sunny to dip your toast in it," Luna said pensively, resuming her cooking.

"Well how do you take yours then, Luna?" Dean said, feeling a bit defensive, yet still unable to hide his grin.

"I don't normally eat animals. I can't really stomach it…pardon the pun," Luna said frankly, placing a plate of eggs and toast in front of him.

"Oh bloody hell! You didn't have to make me eggs if it bothered you!"

"It doesn't bother me. My mother taught me to not force my beliefs on anyone. Anyway, I got the impression that your mother does all of your cooking, and I didn't want you to starve," Luna said, pouring herself a bowl of granola.

"Well, you've got that right," Dean said between bites. "I really need to learn to cook for myself."

"Not really. I love to cook, so why don't' I just handle that from now on?" Luna suggested before delicately wiping the corner of her mouth.

Dean felt floored and confused, exactly as he had for the last twenty-four hours. The implication of Luna's simple statement was that she planned on a more permanent situation for the two of them. He began turning the matter over in his mind, but a flash of twittering distracted Dean from such thoughts.

"Oh! Well hello, Pig! I haven't seen you for ages," Luna exclaimed, allowing the tiny scops owl to perch upon her finger.

Pig extended his leg until Luna was able to remove the note he had delivered. Once she had the letter in hand, Luna summoned some odd looking treats as a reward for the successful delivery. Pig perched happily on her arm, eating them from her open hand as she read. Her face gave no clue as to what she was thinking while her eyes darted back and forth across the small piece of parchment.

"Apparently the Weasleys freed a little girl when they went to rescue Penelope Clearwater," murmured Luna.

Dean wasn't entirely sure whether she was shocked or only delightfully surprised.

"Oh my god! They imprisoned a little child? Shit!" Dean exclaimed, unable to suppress an image of one of his little sisters being taken captive.

"Yes, from what Harry has written, she is Colin Creevey's little sister. Apparently a group of Death Eaters killed her parents and took her as a prisoner," she added softly.

Dean heard Luna sniffling, so he scooted beside her and placed his arms comfortably around her thin frame, allowing her to rest her head upon his shoulder.

The gravity of the situation hit Dean forcefully in the few moments it had taken Luna to explain the letter. He had gone from peacefully considering the possibly of falling in love, to a worried state of concern for a total stranger. He realized that it was only a stroke of good fortune that the poor imprisoned girl hadn't been one of his beloved family members, so he didn't want to tempt fate by treating the situation as if it were someone else's concern. Dean was convinced that karma had saved him from death and placed him in the arms of someone more amazing than he could ever have hoped for, so he realized that he owed a debt to whatever force it was that controlled fate.

"You know, you could help her," Dean suggested, rubbing her goose-fleshed arm.

"That's what Harry seems to think," Luna said, sounding a little doubtful.

"Luna, you have an uncanny ability to understand how someone is feeling. You pick up on things others don't, and you're never judgmental. That little girl needs someone to get through to her, and you penetrate everything you look at," Dean said, shocked by his own reverberating emotions. For good measure, he kissed her softly, letting his lips slide across hers with as much tenderness as he could express. Luna sighed beautifully before rising from the debris-covered table.

"Dean, Pig, would you gentlemen care to join me on a trip to the Weasleys'?" she asked as she strapped on her sandals.

Pig had been circling excitedly around her head, but calmed immediately and perched upon Dean's shoulder when Luna whispered "shhh."

"Of course, I'll go with you," answered Dean, who grasped her hand gently in his before they set out toward the west, the glow of the morning sun shining warmly upon their backs.

Dean continued to hold Luna's hand, even after they walked into the silence of the Burrow's empty kitchen. The house was surprisingly dark, especially considering that the morning sun was shining brightly outside. This unexpected development struck Dean with an eerie chill. In response, he pulled Luna closer as they made their way up the stairs.

"Ronald is very tall, so I assume his room will be located on one of the upper floors," Luna said, as if it was obvious that height was indicative of story preference. Dean knew not to question her logic.

"After you," Dean said, gesturing toward the last flight of stairs. Luna gave an odd little curtsey and ran up.

Dean reached his long arm over Luna's head and knocked firmly on the door labeled "Ron's Room." They entered an orange explosion of Cannons' goods, but Dean was focused on Ron, who was lying still and pale in his bed. Hermione and Harry were sitting beside him, gazing forlornly at their guests.

"Hello Harry Potter, Hermione, Ronald," Luna said, nodding to each.

"He can't hear you, love," Dean whispered, rubbing her back.

"Oh, are you channeling his thoughts?" Luna asked, excited.

"No…I was just…"

"Well there she is," Luna whispered, peering toward the little girl who lay in the camp bed.

Ginny provided a brief interruption as she entered the room and set a tea service tray next to the camp bed before taking her spot next to Harry. Luna took only a moment to acknowledge Ginny's arrival, and then tiptoed over to the small bed in the corner. Luna took off her shoes, pulled back the covers, and crawled into the bed next to the girl, whose long hair was dangling over the edge of the narrow space.

"What's she doing, Harry?" Dean asked. Harry had no idea, either, so he simply smirked and shrugged.

"The ceiling is quite boring in here, isn't it?" Luna sighed. Dean went to answer, when a tiny voice squeaked "A little".

"Well then, that would beg the question: Why would someone want to gaze at this and wait, when they could be examining cloud shapes?" Luna asked quietly, gesturing puffy clouds with her hands.

"My hero is hurt," The little girl eked out, barely above a whisper.

"I'm not suggesting you stop thinking about him. Just enjoy the clouds with me while we wait for him to wake up," Luna urged gently. The small girl leapt out of her bed and crawled onto Ron's.

"I'll be right back, I promise," the girl whispered to Ron.

Dean noticed that Hermione was watching with tears in her eyes. Moments later she moved to Ron's side and began to run her hands through his hair. At the same time, the little girl sidled up to Luna.

"I'm Izzie."

"I'm Luna. Lovely to meet you," Luna said, shaking her hand. "Do you mind if my lover joins us?" Luna asked.

Dean felt heat rush to his cheeks as all of the eyes in the room, save for Ron's, focused sharply upon him. Harry was coughing hard after choking on a sip of water. Ginny was patting his back vigorously and struggling to hold back her own giggles. Izzie walked up to Dean, who squatted down to meet her eyes, glad to have an excuse to avoid looking at his friends for the moment.

As Dean and the young girl carefully studied one another, he noticed her sad eyes, skinny frame, and bruised legs. His heart broke for her, and he found he was glad the Weasleys had taught those horrible people a lesson.

"You know, I'm extremely tall. I could carry you up high all the way to the yard," Dean suggested, smiling at Izzie in hopes of making her comfortable. Izzie climbed onto his back and wrapped her small, pale arms around his neck. He hooked his arms over her frail legs as they made their way out to the yard. Dean was unsure how they might be able to help this precious child, but assumed Luna would have some ideas.

After following them out to the yard, Luna removed her shoes once again. Dean found himself mesmerized, unable to keep his eyes off her gorgeous feet, which looked even more inviting now that they were covered with the morning dew. Izzie followed Luna's example, shedding her shoes on the spot. She shivered slightly as the dew enveloped her tiny feet. Hoping to keep her warm, Dean conjured a blanket and smoothed it over the ground.

"Alright, let's see what the sky is telling us," Luna suggested, lying flat on her back and looking up at the bright morning sky. To her right, Izzie mimicked Luna's actions, while Dean did the same to her left. They both waited patiently for Luna to describe her observations.

"Well, of course, I can see a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. At least you can always find one in the sky," said Luna as she folded her beautiful hands over her chest.

Dean inched closer so he could feel the luxurious softness of Luna's skin and share the gentle warmth that radiated from her body.

After they had spent few minutes searching the skies, Izzie broke the silence. "I see it!" she exclaimed, pointing at something Dean could easily have mistaken for a pile of fluffy white marshmallows.

"What else can you see?" asked Luna, without ever taking her eyes from the sky. A few more moments passed before Izzie's tremulous voice broke the comfortable silence.

"I see a man in long robes with big scary teeth," Izzie whispered.

"Oh dear! Well you're not supposed to see scary things in such beautiful clouds," Luna said softly.

"But I see scary things everywhere," Izzie replied, her eyes looking constantly upward. Touched by Izzie's fears, Luna pulled out a wadded up tissue and dabbed the tears off the little girls face.

Luna tilted her head to the side, studying Izzie's worried features. She took the child's hands and spoke gently.

"There's nothing to be afraid of anymore."

"How can you know that?" Izzie asked in disbelief.

"I just have to trust those who love me, and trust myself to keep things safe," Luna said, twisting Izzie's hair around her finger and speaking as if the topic of discussion was as light as air.

"What is trust?" Izzie asked, her diminutive eyes melding with Luna's large blue orbs and Dean sat awkwardly beside them.

"It's when you let someone know and do things that are important to you, like when you are scared. Do you trust me to help you feel better?" Luna spoke like a mother to a child, and Dean's head was overcome with visions of her holding and loving his future children. The thought filled him with hope, and warmth seemed to radiate through him.

Dean sat on that soft blanket transfixed by Luna, from the way her hair fell in long locks over a strip of bare skin on the small of her back, to the dulcet tones of her voice that seemed to invade his head. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers down her delicate shoulders and grasp her hands, but he restrained himself for the sake of Izzie.

"I trust you, Miss Luna," Izzie said, pulling Dean from his thoughts.

"Can you tell me about what scares you?" Luna asked.

Izzie responded with a frightened and tearful look, but closed her eyes and nodded.

"What did it feel like for you, being in that place?"

With surprising strength, Luna lifted Izzie into her lap, and wrapped her long, pale arms around her shaking form. Luna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The breath turned into a shuddering sigh as she began to hold Izzie more tightly.

Dean had absolutely no idea what was occurring as both girls were shuddering slightly, as if in response to an unseen force. He sat back and waited for any indication that they needed help.

Finally, a single tear fell down Luna's face, and she pulled back from Izzie, who looked slightly serene. As Dean went over toward Luna, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Blimey! You're an empath!" Dean exclaimed, brushing the tear from Luna's face. She only nodded lightly, gazing at her hands.

"My mother was one as well. Before I started showing signs, my father was of the mind that mother got her gift from gnome saliva. Then, one day, I comforted him as he grieved for mum and he spent the next few weeks experimenting with other empathic connections," Luna sighed, a wistful look in her eyes.

"What is a m-paff?" Izzie asked, breaking Luna's attention away from Dean.

"Well, an empath is someone who can feel what you are feeling and help you to get better," Luna said, messing up Izzie's hair and leaving a trail of static in her wake.

"Do you smell that?" Izzie asked, standing and turning her nose into the air.

"Mmmm. I think that's some of Mrs. Weasley's famous cooking," Dean said, realizing hours must have passed since they had last eaten. His stomach was suddenly churning with hunger.

"My mommy always made me cinnamon rolls on Sundays," Izzie said, hanging her head.

"Whenever you miss her, or you feel lonely, just close your eyes and try to remember how they taste and smell," Luna said, closing her eyes and breathing in the aroma. That's one of the things I try to do whenever I miss my mum."

Izzie got up and walked toward the house as quickly as her injured legs could take her, leaving Dean and Luna alone. Dean wasn't nearly as worried as he had been when he first heard Harry's message, but he knew that her recovery was only beginning. Perhaps it had been fate … or karma … or some sort of divine coincidence … but Dean felt he had been brought to Luna for a reason. Perhaps it was their destiny to help Izzie. For the time being, Dean knew that he would do whatever he could to keep her from ever feeling scared or alone again.

Luna climbed into Dean's lap, straddling him with her knees on either side of his thighs. Her hair was barely visible against the backdrop of the bright morning sun, but she glowed majestically as her long fingers traced the lines of his jaw. Dean couldn't help but run his hands up and down her slender torso, enjoying the feeling of her hips pressed so intimately into his. He kissed her, softly at first, but soon it transformed into a wanton sense of urgency, as if she might disappear if he didn't continue clinging to her.

She ground her hips into his, causing a jolt to run all the way through his body. He slid his expansive hands down to her narrow hips, encouraging her with movements of equal force and rhythm. All the darkness of the previous hour faded away in a tangle of odd jewelry and messy hair. Home and safety might always be found at his mother's kitchen table, but holding tightly to Luna Lovegood was where Dean belonged.

He pulled back to meet her pale blue eyes, and saw that tears were running down her cheeks. He let out a small moan and ran his hands gently over her face, wiping away the tears. She took his hands, placed them back on her hips, and recommenced her ministrations.

"Luna, you're not alone anymore. You can cry any time you need to," Dean said gently, wrapping his arms around her.

"I know. But I can either cry, or snog you senseless. And given the choice, I shall always choose the latter," Luna smirked, her red eyes contrasting sharply with to the subtle smile playing on her lips.

Dean grinned back at her and began kissing her neck. She moaned throatily as once again she pressed firmly against his hips. Suddenly, however, their peaceful time together was interrupted.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley," Luna said happily.

Dean was shocked back into reality, having not seen or heard Mrs. Weasley as she had approached them through the yard. As she greeted Mrs. Weasley, Luna had obviously made the decision to not move off of his lap. Dean, however, jumped reactively, causing Luna to fly off of his lap.

"Hullo Mrs. Weasley," Dean mumbled, standing to shake her hand.

"Lovely to see you again, Luna dear. And you too, Mr. Thomas," Molly said, grinning playfully, a twinkle in her eye.

"What brings you to your front yard?" Luna asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Well, that little child seems to be much improved. I'm surprised. After only an hour with you, she's managed to put away three slices of mince pie!" Molly answered, laughing lightly. "She needs to be with her brother Dennis, though. They should be with each other right now. Arthur has located him in Scotland, but with things being the way they are here, I don't think I can go. And, well, Isabelle seems to have taken to you two," Molly started, looking slightly nervous as she clutched her apron.

"Would you like me to deliver her to Dennis?" Luna asked, seeming almost excited.

"That would be lovely! But they both need to be looked after, so why don't you go and fetch him? We can give them some time to get oriented, and then we'll find them room here."

"Oh Mrs. Weasley! But I have loads of space. With my father dead, and all the renovations that Dean and I will be working on, well we'll need some happy faces to fill the space," Luna said, as if it was an obvious choice.

Dean realized the situation as being potentially disastrous, but his instant attachment to Izzie and his faith in Luna's abilities overrode his unease. Besides, Dennis was old enough to look after himself. Dean felt an odd sense of calm come over him despite the stark transition from one month ago to this morning: In a matter of only a few days he had fallen in love and gained another family, haphazard though it might be. The war had changed everything, and Dean had come out of it alive and overwhelmingly lucky. He nodded his head slightly when Luna turned to him.

"I'm not sure someone so young should have such a large responsibility," Molly said, gazing uncertainly between Luna and Dean.

"Well, according to the timeline in my head, William was born before you were well into your twenties. Besides, I plan on returning to finish school, and I assume Dennis will be too. I don't know if you're aware, but The Prophet reports that Hogwarts will be offering a program for younger witches and wizards who were orphaned in the war." Luna said, sounding very convincing despite her gentle voice.

"I suppose," answered Molly. "Minerva did say that many people have volunteered to launch the project."

"Excellent. We shall pack for Scotland and meet here in one hour," Luna said, taking Dean by the hand and walking briskly back up the hill.

One question still struck Dean, but he was glad it was only one considering how bewildering Luna was.

"How did Harry know to write you?"

"I don't really know, but he probably thought my attitude might help. He's move clever than I thought," Luna smirked. "I don't use my gift very often, as I find it intrusive, but I've used it on Harry before. It was right after Stubby Boardman, Sirius Black if you prefer, passed on. I didn't tell him I was doing it, but I reckon that's why he chose to write me," Luna finished, placing a finger to her chin and looking off into the vast expanse of sky.

"I don't really understand what you did, but wow…just wow. You've always been a surprising girl, but you've surpassed everything. You're the most incredible, amazing woman…I just…I…"

Before Dean could stammer amorously on, Luna grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him, standing right there on the hilltop overlooking The Burrow.

A few moments of wonderful snogging later, Dean decided that they needed to Apparate directly to Stoatshead Hill post haste, as his desire for Luna was becoming painfully obvious. Upon entering the ruined Lovegood home, Dean proceeded to kiss Luna in every place he could reach, starting at her shoulder and moving up to her neck, jaw, ear and, finally, her lips. If Dean could have literally breathed her in, he would have done so. She entranced him beyond any shred of sanity. Luna moaned as he embraced her with his powerful arms, and then grasped her bum possessively. This was definitely the most fun he'd ever had packing.

Dean let out a feral growl from deep within his throat when he felt Luna's tongue brush across his lips. He let her in, threading his long, dark hands through her light hair and pulling her more tightly to him. She sighed when he pressed into her hips, showing her just how much he wanted her. He couldn't wait any longer to see her elegant, pale body exposed before him, so he gently lifted her shirt over her head. He looked down at her small swell of breasts, covered in a blue bra with pink rabbits, and kissed her again hungrily.

Luna responded with uncharacteristic fervor, and yanked Dean's shirt and trousers off with surprising grace and speed. He took the liberty of removing her bra, and quickly moved his lips to her surprisingly pink nipples, which Dean couldn't help but marvel at in sharp contrast with her otherwise porcelain skin. He was quite pleased with himself when Luna gripped his head and let out a throaty moan, so he took more of her breast in his mouth. He then dropped to his knees, using both hands to press her hips more firmly against him. At last, Dean released her breast and began kissing a soft line down her stomach, pausing to kiss her navel, eliciting some wonderful giggles in the process. He looked up to meet her eyes as he slowly lowered her skirt down to the floor. She smiled serenely back at him before throwing her head back in ecstasy when he started to toy with the top of her underwear.

Dean leaned back as he slipped her knickers over her bum and onto the floor. He marveled at the beautiful contrast of his dark skin against her pale thighs as his hands moved back toward her center. As she groaned his name, Dean could smell her scent radiating with want. He wasted no time in pulling her closer to his face. When he parted her soft, pink lips and ran his tentative tongue over her clit, Luna's body immediately tensed.

"Holy snorkacks!" Luna exclaimed, almost causing Dean to lose his concentration.

Regaining his composure, Dean took one of Luna's endless legs and guided it over his shoulder. She was now completely exposed to him, and he even found that her dripping wet center to be as ethereal and beautiful as the rest of her. He lavished her with his tongue, running it over her, causing her hips to buck and her hands to grip him even more forcefully. He pressed two fingers into her and continued to suck gently on her clit until she was shaking and writhing in front of him.

Luna climaxed quickly, whimpering his name as he licked out every last drop of her orgasm. He continued until her legs were so weak that she sank languidly onto his lap. She then took the side of his face in her hands and kissed him fully, causing him to revel in the feeling of her warm flesh pressed against his chest.

Dean's legs began to feel prickly, so he stood, bringing Luna up with him. She pulled back, letting a fiendish smirk slip past her lips as she slid Dean's boxers over his bum before pulling them off completely.

With surprising force for such a small body, Luna leapt onto Dean, wrapping her legs around him.

Dean stumbled back against the wall as they kissed with wild passion. He gripped her bum and guided her onto him. She was still incredibly hot and wet, giving him the ability to fill her completely.

He buried his nose into the nape of her neck as he bucked against her. His heart was racing and his mind soaring as both a profound sense of contentment and a raging desire coursed simultaneously through him. She gripped his forearms for leverage and moved against him with amazing athleticism for a girl who's only activity seemed to be skipping.

Dean couldn't hold back for long, and soon was spilling into her, crying her name over and over and holding her tightly.

"Mmmm, Dean Thomas, that was even better than last time," Luna commented, as if she had just learned an amazing bit of trivia. "I think I quite like it when you…oh what's the term…eat me out? Not to mention standing up!"

"Well thank you, my Lovely Luna," Dean answered, tucking her hair messily behind her ear.

"Don't get dressed. I must paint this!" Luna exclaimed, indicating his naked form. She traipsed up the newly repaired stairs to her room to fetch some supplies.

Moments later, Dean heard a loud crash and Luna's muffled screams. He ran quickly to her aid, shouting her name as he tried to track her down.

"Dean! I can't get out! I can't breath! I can't see!" Luna shouted from some hidden place.

"Keep talking, I'm trying!"

"I'll never get out. They'll never let me out!" Luna cried.

"Who are they?" Dean asked, locating where she was, trapped behind some rubble that had fallen in front of the closet door, keeping her trapped inside. Dean made quick work of the rubble by shouting "Reducto!"

Luna's naked body fell against the dust of the bricks as she coughed between sobs. Dean summoned a quilt and wrapped it around her trembling body, holding her close.

"I thought I would never get out," Luna whispered, folding herself into Dean's arms. He knew she was no longer speaking of her brief time in the closet.

"Shhh, love. You're safe here, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again. Can you trust that?" Dean asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Luna nodded in response, strengthening her embrace.

For a short while, Dean held her close, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort. Even a woman as disconnected and strong as Luna could be affected by what she had been through. Helping a young witch to recover from her torment, and loving her all the while, could be seen as daunting to some men. But considering how deeply Dean cared for this enigmatic creature, the choice to love her thoroughly and get her through this darkness seemed like the only option.

Being in the North of Scotland made Dean long to be back at school and ensconced in that normality once more. He missed Seamus, he missed the red covers of the Gryffindor dormitories, and he missed walking through life with an air of nonchalance. Certainly this new development had made Dean's world amazing and complete, but one always tends to feel homesick every once and a while. As they climbed the rocky trail up to a small hut on a cliff, Izzie suddenly shrieked.

"It's our cabin!" She cried, leaping off Dean's back and running up the hills. As she reached the property, Izzie went straight toward a small red barn.

Dean smiled to himself, feeling that this task might be easier than they had thought, while

Luna giggled and began jogging to catch up with her. She pushed the barn door open wide and was almost toppled over by a swinging tire.

"Who knew Muggles were so inventive?" Luna asked, grabbing the tire and pushing Izzie back across the barn with surprising strength.

Dean felt desire course through him as Luna's hair swayed and her shirt rode up, exposing her pale skin to glow in the setting sun. Moments later, he heard the faint snapping of a branch coming from somewhere outside, and drew his wand on reflex. There was no need for stealth, however, as Dennis Creevey all but crashed through the door, wand drawn, and walking in a sloppy, zigzag pattern. In his other hand, he gripped a bottle of firewhiskey.

"Who the hell goes there and what do you want!" Dennis shouted, although his words were slurred. He was still small in stature, even though he had grown a few inches over the last year. His mousy brown hair was long and shaggy, and was hanging in matted clumps over his shoulders. His clothes were filthy, and his eyes were startlingly bloodshot, contrasting starkly against his pale complexion.

"Denny!" Izzie cried out, running toward him.

Luna put a hand out to stop her while Dean stepped between them.

"Izz?" Dennis asked, his eyes beginning to tear up. He swayed slightly on his feet before falling.

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Luna struggling to keep Izzie still. He knew that they needed to explain what had happened to Izzie before they could go any further, but Dennis would need to sober up before that could happen.

"In the house. Now!" Dean ordered, grabbing Dennis by the shirt and rising to his full height, trying to look as intimidating as possible.

"Fine, Thomas. Keep your bloody shirt on," Dennis muttered angrily, attempting to push him but missing terribly.

After they entered the cabin, Dean rummaged about and located the Sober-up Potion. Once he administered a large dose to the drunken boy, everything began to go more smoothly. Dennis soon regained his senses, and Dean was able to tell him what he knew about Izzie's captivity. He moved slowly, carefully gauging the younger boy's reaction. Dennis sat frozen, gazing at his tea, while Dean finished telling the final detail.

"I'm a coward … I just gave up. I thought they were all dead, when I should have kept trying … kept looking. I don't deserve to have her back," Dennis cried, slamming his fist on the table.

"Whatever you may be thinking or feeling, you need to let it go, mate," said Dean emphatically. "You and Izzie have both been through hell, but she needs you. Hell, you need each other. But you have to be strong for her. There is no gray area here," Dean continued, softening his voice and placing a hand on Dennis' arm.

Dennis looked up. A defeated expression crossed his face before Dennis turned and walked into the hallway. Dean was about to go after him, but Dennis returned with a book in his hand.

"Let's go back outside. I wanna spend some time with Izz," Dennis said, determination evident in his demeanor as he walked cautiously back to the barn.

Izzie ran to meet her brother and jumped into his arms eagerly when he knelt down in front of her. She was giggling and bouncing in his arms, but Dennis was sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Izz. I'm so sorry," he cried, gripping her tightly.

"Denny! Denny! Don't be sad," Izzie cried, her own lips beginning to quiver. "We're safe now, we're in a safe place. They can't hurt us here."

Dennis stood and wiped his nose, looking more like a little boy than a young man. He handed her the pink book and her eyes lit up. "Do you fancy me reading you some _Sleeping Beauty_ before we get something to eat?" he asked, taking her hand.

Izzie nodded, and they walked hand in hand back into the house.

Dean turned to Luna. She wasn't teary eyed, but smiled serenely. She kicked off her sandals and sat on the tire swing, her legs facing outward.

"Can I show you a trick with that?" Dean asked as an idea formed clearly in his mind.

Luna smiled in response and nodded. Encouraged by her reaction, Dean placed both hands on the swing and began to turn it slowly in circles. The rope began to squeak as it tightened.

"As fun as this is, I'm not seeing it as too remarkable," Luna said, looking up at him and wrinkling her nose.

Dean took that as his cue to let go, unleashing the tension that had built up in the rope. Luna squealed in an uncharacteristic way as she began to spin faster and faster. He watched in amusement as her hair flung out in all directions and her legs appeared to become rubbery. When she finally screamed for him to stop it. Dean grabbed the swing.

Luna's cheeks were red and she had a giant grin on her face. She swayed slightly, her unfocused eyes revealing how dizzy she had become. Dean was amazed by how beautiful she looked with her hair all a mess, her skirt hiked up over her knees, and her bare feet brushing across the hay that was littered on the ground.

She looked up, biting her lip. Dean was shocked to see her looking almost coy under his gaze. Luna might be a lot of things, but coy wasn't one of them. He liked it so much that he grabbed both sides of her face and kissed her passionately, firmly convinced that this was the start of something big. Dean could feel it in the base of his spine. The war might have torn everyone apart and consumed every waking moment, but now he had years stretching out ahead of him – years that would hopefully be garnished with those astonishing blue eyes.


	17. Who Needs Shelter?

**AN: This is the final chapter. If you have been reading and enjoying this fic, please leave me some feedback. The more reviews...the faster the next fic comes! A special thanks to Tom Bombadil for being the best beta ever. **

**Who Needs Shelter**

**Chapter 16**

_Who needs shelter when the mornings coming?  
Absolutely there's no one  
Who needs shelter from the sun?  
Not me, no. not anyone._

Hermione gazed up at him, standing shirtless before her, and she let her eyes travel from his penetrating blue eyes to his shy grin, before finally resting on the various scars on his chest. She ran one finger over the raised white line that ran all the way to his navel. His muscles tensed to her touch, hardening his stomach. He took her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing her lightly. She was still amazed at how the smallest acts could give her chills.

He lifted her shirt over her head and brought her close to him. She sighed contentedly as she heard his heart beat gently against her ear. There were so many times Hermione almost lost Ron that even the subtle drum of his heart couldn't be taken for granted. It seemed to that since the moment she met him, Fate had been trying to take him from her.

First, it had been Ron's foolhardy courage that almost ripped him from her side. When as a small boy he was thrown like a rag doll onto the floor of the chessboard, Hermione had first felt her stomach fall and her heartache. After that, it had been watching Sirius Black drag him into the unknown depths of the Whomping Willow that had caused Hermione's mind to numb and fear to grip her heart. Fate had given Hermione no respite, and in their fifth year, when outnumbered and facing a terrible foe, they were almost torn from each other again. Her last thoughts before she had fallen on that terrible night were of Ron.

Hermione and Ron had managed too elude Fate for the first time that night at the Ministry of Magic when she opened her eyes to find him scarred and broken, but smiling down at her.

However, shortly after recovering from that terror, Ron was ripped from her in too many metaphorical ways the following year. When Hermione finally found her footing and was ready to pull Ron in, Lavender came between them, and while Hermione was forced to wait, hoping for Fate to step in and bring him back to her -- to finally do some good. But when she thought it couldn't get any worse, he was taken even farther from her. So she waited for him to wake, for the poison to drain and at last she was rewarded for her hardship.

Last year had been an endless barrage of fear, panic, and loss. It left all three scarred and barely able to function in a normal setting. It seemed that every morning was greeted with fear that someone was dead, dying, or missing. Fate brought that locket to them, and Fate sent Ron away from her. He had turned his back on her, leaving her feeling exposed and more afraid then she had ever felt before. At the time, Hermione would never admit how much she needed Ron near her, but the year went on, and Fate played it's spiteful game with her.

Four months ago, she had seen him covered in blood and clinging to life. It happened with sudden cruelty, just after Hermione had come to think she could finally breath again, then Ron was there once more, pale and helpless in her arms. She vowed then not to wait for the next shoe to fall, but to drink him in whenever she could.

So here she was, with her hands having found their way to Ron's arms, exploring the faint circular scars that made their home there. As always, Ron read her mind and knew her fears, so he took her chin in his hand and kissed her lightly.

"I'm here, love. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, kissing all of the sensitive spots on her neck.

"Oh Ron!" Hermione moaned, reaching up to capture his lips. He tasted like heaven as their warm bodies pressed against each other, full of life.

Hermione pressed frenzied kisses over his face and neck, running her hands along the waistline of his shorts. He let out a glorious groan that sent the blood rushing away from Hermione's head and caused her center to throb. Ron ran his warm hands over her arms and onto her back, which arched toward him. Goosebumps invaded her skin as Ron first unclasped her bra, and then removed her knickers at an agonizingly slow pace.

She watched as he slowly moved downward, taking time to lavish her erect nipples with soft, wet kisses. When his knees hit he soft rug, he began to kiss the flat plane of her stomach. His vibrant hair shown against her tanned skin, and as his kisses slipped lower on her body, he drew her ever closer. In response, Hermione threaded her fingers through his shaggy hair.

Ron's long fingers glided across her wet folds, eliciting a shuddered at the exquisite feeling. He ran a well-practiced finger over the small cluster of nerves just past her labia, causing Hermione to cry out as she firmly gripped his shoulders. He moved two gingers inside her, allowing his thumb to massage her clit. As Hermione's legs opened further, Ron eagerly moved his head to her center. She could feel herself getting wet just watching him as he moved toward her.

Ron's warm, wet tongue pressed into her, forcing Hermione to focus her concentration just to remain standing. With one hand, he spread her lips, making Hermione feel exposed … and wonton…and beautiful. With the other hand, Ron pressed his fingers back inside her, filling her, but making her crave more. After only a few sweet moments, Ron curved his fingers and sucked her clit gently. She crashed in waves of an orgasm, losing her footing. When she opened her eyes, Ron was looking at her and smiling devilishly. She had fallen onto his lap, where they remained, sweating and entwined on the floor.

"I'm sorry, love. My legs sort of went all wobbly," Hermione whispered, feeling heat rush to her cheeks.

Ron wrapped is arms around her glistening back and pulled her even closer.

"You know I love it when you're muddled by my superb love making abilities."

He looked at her very seriously, but they both broke into wide grins, unable to even mimic a serious tone in the afterglow of a crushingly intimate moment.

Ron smirked, kissing her tenderly and running his hands through her hair, causing Hermione to purr as she laid her head on his naked shoulder.

Without warning, Ron stood up, causing Hermione to wrap her legs around his waist in order to keep from falling. She could feel his hardness press up against her still wet center. He pressed upward as he carried her toward their majestic old bed, bringing a quiet moan from deep within her. At full height, Ron kissed her, spun her around, and searched her face for the smile she reserved only for him. She obliged as she fell with him onto their bed.

Hermione tried to look alluring as she lay there, but Grimmauld Place was still a cold and drafty old home, despite the fact that they had been spending weekends away from Hogwarts attempting to renovate it. Hermione shivered, even with the warmth that was pooling between her legs, and the fact that Ron was showering her with gentle kisses that wound down her neck and shoulders.

He must have felt her shivering, because he paused to moved to cover more of her body with his. It was also an excuse for him to settle between her legs with his cock throbbing against her, begging for entrance. She let her legs fall apart as he slid the tip of his penis very lightly inside her. He released a shuddering breath and bit his lip. When he was sure she was ready, his eyes clamped shut and he let out a strangled cry as he plunged fully into her.

Hermione gasped and struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to see everything. Ron looked exquisite like this, his cheeks tinted red, his hair pasted with sweat to his forehead, and his beautiful lips being pulled back and forth between his teeth. Fate must have planned his face perfectly to keep her entranced forever because she could drink him in all night.

And in fact, this might well take all night. Despite seven years of pent up passion, Ron and Hermione couldn't help but take it slow. It had been their destiny to move in agonizingly slow paces, trying to squeeze every bit of life out of each drop of time. Fate had made sure they would never forget what was at stake, and every time they lay together, it was like writing a novel to commit to memory.

Ron pulled back and pressed into her again with more force, while she cried out his name, begging and pleading, but for what she didn't know. He was whispering for her with his arms wrapped beneath her shoulders as he continued thrusting into her with a new force at a new angle. As he quickened his pace, Hermione's entire body began to clench into a tightness that practically took her breath away. Ron could feel it too, for he lifted his head to meet her eyes as she came hard. His eyes bored into hers, never wavering as wave after wave crashed over her – as she pulled him into her tighter and tighter, never letting go.

At last, she couldn't take any more stimulation, and she rolled slowly to her side. When her heartbeat finally slowed, she realized that Ron wasn't finished yet. His stamina surprised her slightly, but she wasn't able to show it, because he had once again begun kissing her feverishly. His large hands were stroking his own cock in an attempt to maintain that wonderful hard erection. Hermione reached down between them and grasped him firmly, letting her thumb tease over his smooth head. When she thought she could never beat the climax she just achieved, in came another wave of arousal, begging for Ron's cock yet again. The need for him invaded Hermione's senses, and she whimpered weakly with want.

"'Mione?" Ron whispered in between moans.

"Mmmhmm?"

"Can I? Well. Umm. Can I try something?" He said, meeting her eyes again.

"That depends," Hermione answered, too turned on to be any more coherent as Ron's hips continued to thrust toward her hand.

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life," Hermione whispered, the tension making her stomach drop.

Ron lifted himself off of her and gently guided Hermione onto her stomach, and she obliged, until a though occurred to her.

"Ron! You're not…"

"No! No. Ummm. Just…"

"It's okay love," Hermione whispered, easing her head back to the bed. She felt Ron's hands run down her back and over her bum, so slowly that she raised her hips slightly into the air. She felt the weight shift on the bed as he took his position behind her and grasped her hips in his strong hands. She instinctively rose.

"Oh bloody hell," Ron groaned, running a finger over her slit, bringing forth a shudder from Hermione, despite the fact she felt so exposed. She felt Ron move closer behind her, his hands running up and down from her ribcage to her hips.

"'Mione," Ron moaned, obviously holding back out of some mix of fear and respect. Hermione pressed into him, telling him she was okay.

Then he was inside of her. Hermione had never felt so filled, so complete, so utterly wonton that she couldn't help but scream, gripping the iron bars of the bed for some semblance of stability. The pleasure was incredible as Ron began to move.

"Oh fuck!" Ron yelled, thrusting quick and hard into her. Soon, they were echoing each other in incoherent sentiments. Hermione came harder than she had earlier, and it came as a shock. There had been no time for build-up, instead her muscles simply clenched with one last thrust, and she was shaking with electricity. Ron screamed her name as she felt him move inside of her, spilling out hot liquid deep into her.

His orgasm finished when hers began to die down, and Ron lowered himself so his face was against her shoulder. He whispered her name over and over, as if she were solely responsible for the magic that had just occurred. At last, when they were finally weak with exhaustion, Ron pulled slowly out of her, and they curled on the cool bed. Summoning a blanket, Ron covered them both. Fate could never break this bond; although it had tried so many times that they had nothing left to fear.

Hermione began to drift off in Ron's arms, just in time for Ginny to burst through the door.

"Get up you lazy sods! Penny is in labor!"

_By your clock the cock rooster crows  
Then off to work where everybody goes  
Slow, But eventually they get there  
Picking up the day shift back where all left off_

Percy Weasley trudged miserably up another nondescript, tree-covered hill in Bedeciu, Romania. He carried a smart, monogrammed, leather satchel in one hand as he read an official Ministry parchment in the other. He took no notice of the sprawling mountainous landscape unfolding around him as he read the memo from Minister Shacklebolt.

_Percy-_

_I'm sorry to be asking this of you on such short notice, and I'm sure you want nothing more than to tend to your wife, but I need a favor of you and you're the only one available that I can trust._

_There's a situation in which some known Death Eaters have turned up, trying to disguise themselves as Romanian Muggles. I guess they forgot to roll down their sleeves! There are only two of them. You'll meet some men from the Romanian Ministry. They'll apprehend them. We just need you to fill out the necessary paperwork to have them extradited. _

_Enclosed, you'll find the Apparition coordinates and your contact information once you arrive._

_Good luck. Give my regards to Penelope!_

_-Kingsley Shacklebolt. _

Percy sighed and filed the parchment back in the satchel. His pace quickened as he walked down the hill and into the valley where the tiny village was nestled. From there, he quickly located the rendezvous point where he would meet the Romanian law enforcement.

"Ahh! Mr. Weasley!" exclaimed a dark, beefy man who came out of the shadows, towering over Percy.

"Yes," he answered, shaking his hand.

"Begging your pardon. I'm the only one of us who speaks English. Here are Alexandru and Alin, and I'm Tiberiu."

Percy nodded. He decided to stay relatively silent, for he was annoyed and would be curt if attempting more conversation. Instead, he followed his Romanian hosts in silence as they spoke to each other in their incomprehensible language.

Soon, they came across the pub where the Death Eaters were having a drink, and Percy was glad to see his mission was almost over. He plodded up the steps, waiting outside to prepare the standard forms when he heard a massive explosion. Muggles were running suddenly away from the flames and leaping out of the small pub. Percy drew his wand and entered against the burgeoning crowd.

The two Death Eaters were donning their masks, though inelegantly, as they were haphazardly hanging on their faces. The two gaunt men were standing on the table, a pint in one hand and their wands in the other.

"Bloody hell," mumbled Percy, shooting an _Incarcerous Curse _at the nearest offender. The man jumped aside, knocking over chairs and ashtrays in the commotion.

"You'll never take us alive!" shouted the taller Death Eater, taking another swig while casting flames in Percy's direction. When Percy leapt to the side, he saw the three Romanians fleeing.

"Tell Shacklebolt I didn't sign on for this!" yelled Tiberiu, running out of the burning building.

"Not today. Not now!" Percy said, affronted and irritated at his associates' inability to take down two drunken Death Eaters.

Percy ducked behind the bar as the men began to sing, casting poorly aimed curses in every direction, nowhere near where Percy was hiding. He levitated a few bottles of vodka, lighting small fires near the men. While the duo where screaming about Dark Magic (as wasting booze was apparently evil), Percy conjured his Patronus and sent it for help to the closest ally he could think of…Charlie.

Moments later, while Percy's back was to the wall and he was casting spells faster than he could think, something silver descended from the ceiling. Relief swept over him, but it only lasted a second, as he saw his father's weasel, not Charlie's dragon, facing him.

"Penelope is in labor. We are heading to your flat to get her. Meet us at St. Mungo's right now!"

"Penny…" Percy whimpered, as the panic began rising in his chest. Percy Weasley was no hero, he would have run at that point if he could have, but a wall of fire blocked the exits. Since he couldn't get in a proper position to douse the flames without risking a curse from one of the Death Eaters, Percy continued to cast stunners at his enemies. His situation wasn't dire, as these men were too drunk to fight with any skill, but fire was impeding an easy victory.

A large crash at the front window caused Percy to duck, but he soon looked for the source of the sound. He feared that more Death Eaters had come to the aid of the hapless men, and that he would never get to Penny in time. She needed him, and the feeling of letting her down, of leaving her lying there scared and without him, was eating at him like the fire through the shoddy wood furniture. Percy peeked his head over the lip of the bar and saw nothing but fire and two drunken Death Eaters.

A tap on his shoulder made Percy almost shout out, but Charlie quickly put a finger over his lips. He had his wand behind his back, and was blasting water at the flames, clearing the exit.

"Oh thank Merlin you're here. I can't seem to get a good shot without getting burned to death! I have to leave, now!" Percy shouted over the din of the flames.

"Oh come on, Perce. You really should stay for a firewhiskey!" Charlie shouted, shooting a well-placed stunner that knocked one of the men out temporarily.

"As much as I enjoy your witty use of puns, I must insist that we get these men tied up and out of the fire so that I can apparate to St. Mungo's!" Percy yelled back, successfully binding the unconscious man.

"The new Weasley arrives!" Shouted Charlie, rising up from behind the bar and shouting '_Reducto_' at the table holding up the remaining Death Eater.

The man rose up very quickly for someone obviously inebriated and shot at Percy, slicing a deep cut in his arm. Percy fell over from the pain, gripping the wound tightly, too hurt to seal it. Charlie charged and began a duel among the flames.

"Percy! The fire!" Charlie yelled, slashing his wand in flashes of blue and red. Percy cast '_Aguamenti_' with his good arm until only embers remained. When the sound of the flames died, Charlie was stretching arrogantly over the moaning Death Eater, bound to his partner on the floor.

"Another job well done, Daddy-o," Charlie said.

"I have got to get someone from the Ministry down here to clean this mess up! I need to leave. Could you ready an international portkey through your Dragon Conservancy pass? I don't have time to run back up that blasted hill."

Charlie nodded and pulled out his wallet. Percy began to frantically cast his patronus to everyone he could think of, desperate for a replacement. All he could think of was Penny bringing his child into the world. After all she had gone through, she didn't deserve even a single moment of doubt or fear. He hoped his family was comforting her, but the pain of being away from her in this moment was almost too much to bear.

His only thoughts as he cast his owl to parts across London were of being by his wife's side.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_Good-day sunlight  
I'd like to say how truly bright you are  
You don't know me but I know you  
You're my favorite._

George Weasley stretched out languidly in the warm sunlight that was filtering through the curtains of his ostentations four-poster bed. There was nothing like a post-sex nap to really make a Friday night worthwhile. He reached over heavily to shake Samantha awake. He was ready to dart downtown and get a quick bite to eat.

"Mmmmm. Mistress of my bed, it's time to rise lest you miss being fed," he crooned in her ear.

"Charming," she groaned, rolling over to meet his eyes. He feasted on the vision of her naked body draped in his red sheets and shining in the setting sunlight. Her breasts swelled under the thin cotton, creating glorious curves up to her shoulders. Her hair was splayed across the pillow, the bright, near-white standing out against the red. Her lips were still swollen from George's earlier ministrations, and he could clearly imagine how warm and wet she probably was, even after the short nap.

Desire took over with lightning speed, and soon George's bare chest was pressed against hers. His hands were in her hair, and her nails were digging into his back as he kissed her hard. This was sustenance enough for George Weasley for the moment.

Just then, Fleur Weasley's voice could be heard coming from George's living room fireplace.

"George Weasley! Please put some clothes on before you answer this time," her fair voice echoed into the bedroom.

Samantha let out a hearty laugh and reached beside the bed. She put on her glasses and tossed George his shorts.

"No need to give your sister-in-law another eyeful, she may try to leave Bill for you!"

"Because we all know he's a sorry looking bloke," George said, sauntering into the sitting room.

"Oh thank Merleen!" Fleur said, peeking out from behind her hands.

"What's all the fuss, little flower? I was just about to have my way with that lovely Muggle bird in my bed."

"Eeet's Penny. The baby arrives!" Fleur squealed, unable to contain herself about the surprise any longer.

George ran back to the bedroom to fetch Sam, who was already dressing with a large grin on her face.

"Don't forget our hats, George!"

George ran down to the storeroom and grabbed their homemade hats. Samantha had the idea one evening when George was retelling the tale of the time when Percy was made Head Boy. The black, pointed hats flashed in gold lettering:

"_Welcome to the world, Humungous Bighead Junior!"_

George placed one smartly on his head as Samantha rushed down the stairs. George tied a hat to her head and couldn't help but give her a quick kiss as her sharp eyes and bright hair stuck out from under the brim of her hat. He grabbed her arm and they were off to St. Mungo's by Side-Along Apparition.

George grabbed Samantha's hand and, together, they ran down the hallway to join a small cluster of bright red heads. His mother immediately bombarded him with questions.

"Where the hell is Percy? Is he with you?" she shrieked, panicked.

"Why would I be hanging around with Percy on a day like today?"

"Molly, dear. Penny told us he's on assignment at work," Arthur started, but was interrupted by what was obviously Penny's cry coming from a room across the hall. "Why don't you see to Penelope? Percy will make it."

Over the next hour, the Weasleys occupied themselves with idle chat, lots of tea and, of course, losing to Ron in chess. All the while, Penny screamed and cried on occasion, breaking the silence from across the hall. Mrs. Weasley could be seen occasionally popping her head out in order to scan the halls for Percy, before tutting and going back inside. Suddenly, there was a crash to their left, and the loudest scream yet from Penny to the right.

"Penny! I'm here! I'm coming, Penelope!" Percy shouted, sprinting out of the newly opened doors. Charlie appeared behind him, looking happy but disheveled.

Mr. Weasley was waving at Percy like a conductor, directing him toward the correct hospital room. He was covered in soot, his robes were singed, and his hair appeared to be smoking.

"Percy!" Shouted Penny, crying from her room. Percy went to shout back, but as he did so, he almost missed the door. Upon attempting to stop, Percy's rapid sprint turned into a mass of robes as he tumbled onto the floor.

Before anyone could help him up, Percy had risen and burst into her room.

After another hour of waiting, and four cups of tea later, the nurse poked her head out. Samantha quickly rose from George's lap so they could hear the news.

"It's a lovely, healthy boy!" The mediwitch exclaimed.

Raucous cheers rang out as everyone ran in to witness the little miracle. The Weasleys plus Harry, Hermione, and Samantha all crowded into the small room and around the bed. Penny's fine blonde hair was matted with sweat on her forehead, and she looked like she had just run three miles, but the smile on her face shown throughout, and was reflected on Percy's face as well.

George noticed that the small babe in her arms was very red and wiggly, and nothing like the chubby and bouncing young teddy. But he wasn't stupid, and assumed this is what they looked like when they first entered the world. Penny handed the baby to Percy, who began to walk around the room, stuttering inarticulately, too excited to speak.

"We've decided to call him Ignatius after Percy, and George after…well…" Penny called out. Percy walked over and handed the new little one to George, who had tears in his eyes, much to his own shock.

"Well you don't know everything yet, but give it about two months and you'll be telling us all what to do," George whispered, and smoothed the baby's already ginger mop of hair.

As calls for congratulations and exclamations commending the "First of the Next" Weasleys rang throughout the tiny room, Samantha leaned a tired head against George's shoulder. He twisted his arms around her, and couldn't help but press an open palm against her belly, thinking of all the possibilities and adventures they had yet to experience. She craned her neck to meet his eyes, a sparkle in her that he always loved to see. Certainly this is what they struggled all those years for. Fred would have wanted it this way.


End file.
